Mix 'n' Match
by Sugah n Spice
Summary: Rogue finds herself suddenly dumped and unemployed, and decides to get her life back on track only to find it complicated by a certain sexy, sleazy Cajun. AU ROMY, plus JeanLogan, EmmaBobby, BetsyWarren. Lots of plot and lots of romance guaranteed!
1. Tempting Fate

**Disclaimer: **You all know the drill that if the two of us owned these characters we wouldn't be on our asses writing fanfiction, when we could prevent our Romy from breaking up in real life...and yes, we said real life! 

**Note: **This story takes place in an AU alterniverse where none of the characters are mutants or have mutant powers. They are powerless humans! But Gambit gets to keep his red eyes. Because we say so.

Enjoy!

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(1) Tempting Fate**

I've finally come to a conclusion.

Life is spontaneous. It's full of twists, turns, shocks and surprises. They say life can't be lived by a rulebook since most of the time, life isn't predictable – at least, it's not meant to be anyway. There are those who go for this definition of life. They take things as they come – no matter how obvious it is to avoid the many miscellaneous mishaps of life.

I, however, do not believe in the phrase, 'go by the flow'. Okay, it's not so much that I'm prudent or uptight, but really, there are simple sensible procedures that people just shouldn't ignore. For example, if Aunt Flow (get the hint?) comes to visit this month, a woman should have the sense not to wear any light colours that week if it can be helped. Another example is that no matter how cool it may seem, dark blue eye shadow and bright red lipstick should never be used on the same face at the same time for any event. It's _never_ okay.

See, if people can just keep in mind all these simple little rules, then life should run smoothly and dare I say it, actually be perfect. But this will never be the case, for as much as women like to believe that we know all there is to know about every little crook and cranny in this world (Heck, we prove this by analyzing basically every meticulous thing in life!), we still choose to ignore the unspoken, unwritten rule book of life when it comes to love.

Lame, you say?

Definitely, but nothing can take away all commonsense from a woman faster than love... or a half-naked, hot sweating muscular man with those dark Johnny Depp locks, Brad Pitt's strong jaw, Keanu's oh-so sexy mysterious eyes... you see what I mean? All commonsense just thrown out the window there.

Ahem, let me continue. Where was I? Oh yes, rulebook.

Yes, women should definitely write out this rulebook of life. We spend half the time coming up with a standard for everything, yet, we never seem to remember it when we need it the most. So, I propose the first rule that a woman must remember is:

_**Never cook a meal for a party when you've never tasted your own concoction first. **_

-oOo-

Today is a brand new spanking day. The sun is shining. Those lovely little birdies are singing. I'm wearing my new Prada shoes and dressed in my new Gucci power suit. I feel gorgeous. I feel smart. I feel free.

Yes, that cheap ass pathetic excuse of a man dumped me last night.

But it doesn't matter because I was going to end the relationship if he hadn't beaten me to the punch. I mean, he had all these little annoying habits such as; he always had to sleep on the right side of the bed. Did he ever think for once that perhaps, I'm the one who likes to sleep on the right side considering I have this weird phobia where if I sleep on the left side too much, the world might actually invert itself... hey, I was an only child growing up. I didn't have any older siblings to tell me lies to scare me to death, had to make them up myself. But that's beside the point, we're talking about what a loser my boy...I mean, ex-boyfriend is. Okay, so not only is he selfish (remember the whole bed sleeping thing?), he is also the worst cheapskate. Trust me when I say that I've never heard the excuse 'I forgot my wallet' more times in those two months together than my entire life. And to think, he _was_ my boss and actually made twice as much as I did, yet he made me pay for everything. Please note the emphasis on the 'was'. That's right; when the bastard broke up with me, I quit. I full out flat fledged quit. No two weeks notice. No warning. No resignation letter. I just looked him in those gorgeous deep blue eyes of his... and he had that cute spiky platinum hairstyle and my favorite suit on... the pin-striped dark suit that just... NO! It's over.

Anyway, so, I tell him, 'Joe, Ah'm sorry. Ah just can't work for you any longer. Frankly, Ah'd rather work for madman who's trying to take over the world than your sorry-pathetic-minute dick-of an ass!" I ended it with a 'HMPH', and stormed out of there.

So here I am. In the middle of the street, dressed in an outfit I can't afford but bought in order to cheer myself up. As shallow as it seems, it does cheer me up. So, I've lost a wretched boyfriend. So, I've lost my job. But I've lost many things in life, and heck, it only makes me a stronger person.

Grabbing the cell phone out of my purse, I flip it open and dial Emma's number.

"Good afternoon, Frost Industries. Jubilee speaking. How can I help you today?" the peppy secretary asks

"Hey sugah, Emma in?" I ask.

"Hey Anna, yeah, she is. Just give me a sec, I'll send you through," the girl informs me and does just that. Moments later, the familiar icy voice of Emma jumps straight in with her question. "Hey, did you finally dump that prick?"

"Does it count if Ah quit my job, even though he technically said the words, 'Ah don't think this is gonna work'?" I question.

"I have to say no, but I do like the touch with you quitting your job. So what do you want from me? Words of sympathy? Words of comfort? Banter about what a jerk he was? I'm good with the last one, you'll have to find Jean for the first two." Emma tells me bluntly.

"Actually, Ah was thinking... since Ah'm a free woman now, we gotta celebrate. How about dinner at my house at eight tonight? Ah'll cook." I offer happily.

"You cooking?" Emma's apprehensive query came over the line.

"Yes, Ah'll cook. Is there something wrong with me cooking?" I ask, slightly offended.

"No, no. Just makin' sure." She replies, though it makes absolutely no sense to me.

"Alright. Well, be there at eight, get ready to get wasted as well." I warn her.

"I always am. But, gotta go now. Have an important client to see in half an hour, and this bustier just isn't propping my boobs high up enough," she informs me.

Rolling my eyes at her tactful business skills, I mumble a quick 'see ya later', and start dialing up the next number.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Grey's office. How may I help you?" a monotonous voice answers.

"Hi, Ah was wondering if she was in at the moment?" I ask politely, not feeling too comfortable talking to Jean's secretary. Why she hired a seventy year-old former schoolteacher back in the days when they used to perform physical discipline on the students, I will never know.

"Yes, she is. I am going to transfer the call through. Please, hold on," she answers, her voice frequency doesn't change at all.

"Hello, Dr. Grey speaking." Jean's cheery voice comes through.

"Hey Jeanie. It's me. Whatcha doin' tonight?" I ask.

"Hey Rogue. Actually, no plans yet. You proposing anything?" she questions in return.

"Yups. Dinner at my place at eight. Can ya make it?"

"Definitely. Do I need to bring anything?"

"No, Ah've got everything under control. Just bring your oh-so-pretty self. That's all, sugah. See ya then."

"See ya then." She hangs up and I dial the last number.

"Hello?" the British accented voice answers.

"Betsy? Ya answering your own phone now?" I query, completely surprised by this revelation.

"Yes, I don't believe that I should exploit someone into working for me especially when there are millions of..." And on she goes, but I don't hear any of it since I'm drowning her out. She has been acting up like this for a few months now, and it has been getting on my nerves for just as long. Sometimes, I just want to ram a ball up that pretty, perfectly symmetrical...

"Rogue? You there, luv?" she interrupts my thoughts.

"Oh yeah. Anyway, dinner at my place at eight." I inform her.

"Who's cookin'?" she asks.

"Ah am." I tell her proudly.

"Ohh..."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just good t'know you're cookin'... that's all. I'll see you at eight then," she says and hangs up before I can even say a proper 'good-bye'. That girl gets weirder and weirder every day since she quit the high fashion fast supermodel life.

Glancing down at my watch, I realize that I have four hours to pull a dinner together with no ingredients at home whatsoever. And so I set off for the market.

Entering Super-Low-Val-U Mart, I pick up a grocery basket and head to the produce section. Vegetables, I need vegetables. The problem is, I'm not quite sure what vegetables I need. Picking up a strange looking ball of green things that looks as if it is made of layers, I read the sign. 'Artichokes', it reads and I remember watching that cute Naked Chef using one of these in one of those pasta veal things he cooked up. At least, I think he did. Grabbing about six artichokes, I drop them in my basket and walk up to the lettuce section. Green. Romaine. Iceberg. Red. Butterhead. All the different choices are giving me a headache. I decide on grabbing one of each. If worse comes to worse, I'm sure I can just throw it in the pot and it won't even make a difference. Taking a few tomatoes, potatoes, cabbages, eggplants and some Chinese greens called 'Bak choy', I walk over to the meat department.

Assessing the various types of poultry, I finally decide on chicken. Everyone loves chicken and when it's not chicken, everyone thinks it tastes like chicken anyway. So, chicken it is. I reach for the package of half a dozen chicken breasts when a hand reaches out for the same package at the very same time. He brushes my hand and we both pull back immediately. Smiling at the stranger, he apologizes, "I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's my fault too, sugah. Should have seen a hand reaching for it." I apologize as well and gaze into the icy blue eyes of this fine brunette.

"Heh heh, guess we both should have been looking. But take it, it's fine." He says and offers me the package. I smile politely at him and respond, "No. It's alright. You can take it, sugah. Ain't like there's not enough chicken for all of us."

Laughing at my lame reply, he beams, as he checks me out not so subtly. I take this as an opportunity to check him out as well, and notice that he's dressed in a pair of khaki shorts, a white t-shirt that frames his lean muscular frame so well, and open-toed sandals.

"Ain't ya cold?" I ask without even thinking.

He chuckles at my blunt question, then answers, "Nah. I like the cold. Body just prefers it ever since I was a kid."

"Wow... but it's below ten degrees Celsius outside, not to mention, it's almost winter." I point out.

"Trust me, it feels like summer to me," he replies and grins this goofy grin. It's right there and then that I decide he's a complete weirdo. Not wanting to talk to this apparently cold-blooded man anymore, I reach for the chicken, and say, "Well, thanks for the...uhh... chicken. Best be going now." With that, I hastily run off to the checkout stand.

In a matter of minutes, I'm standing outside the store with my bag of groceries in hand, ready to forge ahead to the next chapter of my life. All my baggage is gone, no man to hold me back now – I'm going to concentrate on my career and make a name for myself.

Keep in mind that this is the speech I give myself after every break-up.

-xXx-

Chopping mercilessly at the lettuce while trying to keep the water from overflowing the pot, I grumble peevishly as I look at the mess before me. The Baked Jerusalem Artichokes with breadcrumbs, thyme and lemon look nothing like what Jamie Oliver made. Sure, I alter the recipe a bit by substituting the breadcrumbs with pieces of crackers, the lemon with grapefruit (they are in the same family after all), and the thyme with rosemary, but it shouldn't be so far off from the picture should it? The pasta I'm trying to cook is all soggy since I left it in the boiling pot too long while forgetting to check on it when my favorite soap opera was on an hour ago. The chicken breasts don't fare any better considering all of them are burnt on one side.

**Ding dong.**

Oh shit, it's eight o'clock already and I have nothing that is the least bit edible. Walking grudgingly to the door, I open it and find Betsy looking in on my apartment uneasily. Holding a big brown paper bag, she says, "Hi luv, how's the cookin'?"

"It's almost ready..." I lie through my teeth and usher her in. As I'm about to close the door, someone yells, 'wait up." My other two guests have arrived as well, each holding a big brown paper bag of their own. We all say our 'hellos' and walk back into my mess of an apartment.

"Have a seat, gals, Ah'm almost done." I tell them, but instead of obliging to my request, they all walk to the kitchen with me. One glance at my mess, they gaze at each other and simultaneously begin to laugh at my poor attempt at cooking a meal. At first, I pretend to be furious with their ungratefulness, but soon find that my culinary skills are definitely pretty ludicrous.

When the laughter finally subsides, the girls pull me out of the kitchen and back into the dining room.

"So, what'd ya bring, Jean?" Betsy asks.

"Chinese. What did you bring?" Jean asks in return.

"Italian." She answers.

"You guys brought food when ya knew Ah was gonna cook?" I ask half-indignantly, half-surprised.

"Rogue, that was the cue to _know_ to bring food." Betsy replies.

"Hmph." I huff, but then quickly drop the act when I realize that Emma hasn't revealed what she brought. "So, what did ya bring?" I ask her.

"No food... just loads and loads of liquor. You did say we are going to get wasted, right?" She says and starts taking out bottles of all different types of alcohol.

"Okay, so we have Chinese, Italian, and lots of booze," I say, laying everything out on the coffee table. "Is it just me or does this sound like a guy thang?"

"Hey," Jean prods me affectionately, "don't go jinxing us before we get started. Just add the prerequisite tub of Hagen-Daaz for dessert and we'll be fine."

Lucky for me we passed out before we could finish the king-size tub of pralines and cream left over from last week's bitching session.

"So," Betsy cuts in, liberally filling up a glass with some Archers and lemonade, "I hear you finally ended it with Joe, right?"

"Well, in a manner of speakin'..." I begin hesitantly. I don't exactly want to elaborate on how close I came to making a mess out of _that_ little affair.

"He got in before her," Emma explains to the others, a wicked grin on her face. "So guess what our Southern friend goes and does? She quits her job. Right there and then, on the spot, in his face. Now isn't that just positively _wicked_?"

"Oh Rogue, you _didn't_!" Jean gasps, aghast. I shrug evasively.

"Are you kidding, Jean?" Emma interrupts smoothly. "I say we toast the girl. How else is a woman supposed to keep her dignity?" She pauses, musing over her wineglass. "Although I must confess, there's nothing like taking one's nail file to a guy's brand new spanking sports car..."

You can probably guess right about now that Emma has a rather sadistic taste for revenge on her numerous ex-boyfriends.

"Well, I have to admit, I _never_ liked the guy," Betsy interjects, going for the noodles. "You remember the day he came over to take you out to that charity gala, Rogue? The day the heel on your Jimmy Choo shoes broke? Do you _know_ what he told me while we were waiting for you to come down?" She leans in towards us, eyes narrowed. "The guy doesn't recycle! _And_ the gasoline he uses isn't even unleaded! I mean, what kind of an example is that to his employees? Trust me, luv, you're better off without the sod."

Jean, Emma and I pass weird looks between ourselves. It hasn't escaped our notice that recently Betsy's been talking weird. We suspect it has something to do with the tree-hugger guy she's seeing. Neal, or something like that. Looks like I'd have to ask her about it later. At the moment the only thing anyone's interested in is my impromptu resignation from work, plus my current boyfriend-less state. Nice to know that _someone_ appreciates my misfortune.

"She's right about that," Emma agrees, ignoring Betsy's rather strange statements. "I mean, Joe may have been a veritable tiger in bed, but I could _never_ trust a guy who's so self-obsessed that he has to bleach his hair! Trust me, Rogue, any man who bleaches his hair is the kind of guy who's had trouble getting past a mountain of teenage inadequacies."

"He did _not_ bleach his hair!" I counter irately. I can't believe Emma's bringing up the whole bleach thing again. I down the rest of my can of beer in an attempt to steel myself for what I can tell is going to be a _very_ long night.

"You're telling me that hair was real?" Emma raises a scornful eyebrow.

"You're tellin' me _your's_ is real?" I scowl back at her.

"Oh, stop it you two," Jean scolds us before Emma can make her usual scathing comeback. "The fact is, it's over between you and Joe and we _all_ agree you're better off. Now is the perfect time to make a clean break and start over."

"Like Ah'm evah gonna find a guy who's as wonderful as Scott," I grumble. Somehow I'd rather not hear advice from Jean, who just happens to have the perfect career _and_ a diamond ring from a perfect fiancé on her finger.

"What you need is a change," she suggests anyway, while handing over another beer can, which I foolishly accept. "Someone new, exciting... refreshing. Have you noticed something, Rogue? All the guys you date are blonde, blue-eyed workaholics who care more about their careers than they care about you."

"They do not!" I try to defend myself.

"Oh come on!" Betsy cries. "What about that Erik guy? He was like, the king of corporate America! Anyone would think he'd want to take over the world or something! And might I add he was almost _twice_ your age!"  
"But that lasted, what – a week?" I retort, not wanting to be reminded of _that_ particular disaster.

"And what about that other guy, the one who's on TV and dates that pop star, Dazzler?" Emma adds, grinning slyly at me and nudging me in the arm. "What's his stage name – Longshot?"

"Oh my _God_..." I groan, hiding my face behind a hand as I remember Longshot, who now battles it out every Saturday in the _Gladiators_ arena.

"Anna, the guy had a _mullet_, for God's sake!" Emma persists in torturing me. "Now if that isn't a warning sign that there's something funny about a guy, I don't know what is. A girl'd have to be blind, deaf and dumb to fall for someone like that."

"Okay, okay!" I interrupt before they inevitably end up mentioning the name of a certain man I'd really rather forget, a man whose name I've been avoiding the past couple of years. "Ah get the picture! And yes, he was a mistake. And so was Erik. But you can't tell me _you_ ain't made mistakes, Ms. Ah-Whipped-Mah-Boyfriend-into-ER."

Emma nearly chokes on her chow mein at that one. Oops. Emma can be highly sensitive about her –uh– recreational activities. She scowls and the party's suddenly in serious danger of turning into a free-for-all. Luckily our sweet and temperate Jean plays her peacemaker role to perfection.

"Girls, I think we all know better than to fight with each other over guys. Especially guys we all ditched long ago." She turns to me and passes me an overdone smile. "Anna, _dear_ – all I'm suggesting is that you break the mould. Maybe those types of guys don't work for you because they're _not_ you're type. Why not go out, meet someone different for a change? How about... tall, dark and handsome?"

"Yeah, someone with an accent – accents are _so _damn sexy!" Betsy enthuses.

"And someone with big, gorgeous, hypnotic eyes, the kind that make you go weak at the knees," Emma coos mockingly. Sometimes I think the girl lacks all sense of romance, and that's why she goes through men at the rate she buys handbags. I decide that this is _not_ going to get out of hand. For once, I am resolved to take control of my life, and it is _not_ going to involve some lame-ass excuse for a man. At least, not until I've gotten my life back on track.

"No, no, no!" I put up my hands. "Today, Ah have made a resolution! Ah am officially done with men! Ah am fed up with waitin' round a phone every night, puttin' the toilet seat down, and bein' barred access to the right side of the bed!" I ignore the strange looks the girls pass me for _that_ remark. "Yes – this is it! Ah've had it with men, and until Ah find some nice, kind, respectable and carin' guy who _loves_ me for who Ah am..." I falter off, not sure how exactly I'm supposed to end this declaration. "...Ah am goin' to concentrate on gettin' mah life right back where Ah want it to be! An' Ah'm gonna do it all _without _some stupid, small-dick guy!"

"You should write that down and put it on your fridge, then you might just stick to it," Emma jibes skeptically, arms crossed.

"You don't believe me?" I huff at her, half standing up and almost spilling my beer. I think I must be a little tipsy at this point, but I _have_ just made myself jobless after all, so I think I deserve it. However much it's going to hurt tomorrow morning. "Then mark my words, Emma Frost," I begin jabbing a chopstick in her direction, "because this gal is not _never_ gonna give herself to a sleazebag guy again. No! Not even a tall, dark, handsome guy, with an accent _or_ gorgeous eyes! Period!"

From the looks on the girls' faces, they don't believe a word I'm saying. All right, I think. I'll show them, just for the satisfaction of proving them wrong. This time, Anna Raven, the self-professed Rogue, is gonna play things straight.

Right?

-oOo-

Once the gals have all gone home, it finally hits me. I'm jobless, I'm broke, I'm alone. I'm pathetic. My life has just been ruined, and I have only one person left to blame. Me.

But the evening has left me full of resolutions. I may not have a high-flying career like Emma. I may not be a spoiled rich girl like Betts. I may not have an oh-so-perfect fiancé like Jean. But I'm a fighter, and from now on, I'm going to get my life organized. I take out a notepad and pen and begin the one thing I'm good at doing but terrible at following. I write a list. Anna Raven's List of Priorities.

_1) Find a job._

_2) Tidy the apartment. _(I'm undecided as to whether that should be top of the list.)

_3) Fix plumbing._

_4) Budget until job is found._

_5) Get a pet. Dog?_

I pause, bite the tip of my pen, then cross the last line out and write:-

_5) Find a man that actually gives a damn about me._

I look up at the calendar and decide I'll give myself a month to get the entire list crossed off.

Optimistic? Probably. But right now, my drink addled brain is telling me one thing – _anything is possible_. So I take Emma's advice, stick the list on my fridge, and go to bed finally feeling I've achieved something – _something_ – worthwhile for today.

Little do I know just how much I'm tempting fate to bring disaster my way.

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	2. Looking Forward

**Disclaimer: **We don't own these characters! They belong to Marvel! But we love them all so much we treat them as our own! That's why we love to torture them so! Especially our Romy! Nyum :D 

**Note: **Please bear with us. From the next chapter onward that hot and sexy Cajun will be a major player. And you will not be disappointed. We promise :D

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(2) Looking Forward**

It was just another beautiful, frosty, sunlit Thursday morning, disrupted as usual by the alarm going off at 7:00 on the dot. Jean groaned, rolled over, and reached out for the clock on her bedside table. Why was it so difficult to turn the damned thing off? In the end she could only resort to giving the contraption a hefty smash of her fist. The alarm died with a withering croak.

"Owww," she muttered under her breath, nursing her aching hand. Memories of the previous night came flooding back to her – a party at Rogue's place, fuelled by maybe a little _too_ much alcohol… This was _not_ going to be a good morning.

Beside her, her fiancé was stirring.

"Jean?"

"Morning, Scott," she murmured, leaning over and giving him a dutiful kiss on the cheek.

"You're up early," he commented when she had pulled away from him.

"Gotta be at the surgery early today," she informed him as she reached for some underwear and her clothes. "I have some patient's files to sort out."

"Thought you were going to do that yesterday evening," he replied, sitting up slowly to watch her as she went to turn the shower on.

"I was otherwise occupied last night," she explained. "Didn't you get my message? Me and the girls went over to Rogue's for a get-together."

"Again?" Scott frowned at her as she went to retrieve a band to tie up her hair. "You met up with them last week."

"So?" Jean asked a little irately, as she tied back her long, flaming red locks. She knew by now that Scott hardly approved of her choice of friends, but that didn't mean she was going to stop seeing them.

"So, I worry about you," he returned. "You didn't get back until midnight yesterday. And you smelt of drink when you came in."

Jean stopped, passing him a marked look through indignant green eyes. "What? I thought you were asleep when I came in last night. You mean to say you really stayed up to check on me? Scott, I can't believe you!"

Seeing how much he had annoyed her, Scott pulled aside the bedclothes and walked round to face her. "I'm sorry, darling," he apologized, enfolding his arms snugly round her waist. "It's just that those girls _are_ rather wild…And I get worried they might lead you astray…"

"Scott…" Jean sighed, wanting to tell him once and for all that her friends were really none of his business, but she felt too tired to do so. And besides, he really was so gorgeous with that tousled brown hair of his, and that lean, muscular torso… And those arms that just made you want to melt into them… "Scott," she started again softly, "you know me better. I'm the one who keeps those girls in check. Besides, I only had a couple of glasses of wine, and then me and Betts and Emma took a cab home. See? Nothing to worry about."

"Okay, okay," he finally conceded, kissing the tip of her nose affectionately. "You know I just can't sleep well at night unless my gorgeous fiancée is lying next to me…"

He kissed her, and Jean responded with all the passion she could muster. She just wasn't in the mood for being all lovey-dovey – it was far too early in the morning and she really needed a shower to wake her up.

"Listen," she murmured, breaking the kiss and disengaging herself from his arms. "I've really gotta go get ready, honey. But how about we meet for lunch? I should be free by one O'clock."

"Sounds great," he whispered, leaning forward for another kiss. Jean gave in, glancing over his shoulder at the clock as she did so.

It was going to be a _long_ day.

-oOo-

Now _this_ is sweet.

It's already eleven O'clock and I'm still in bed. There are definitely some advantages to being unemployed – unfortunately, the hangover I have right now isn't one of them. The pain is throbbing between my eyes like a jackhammer crashing against my skull. Grumbling under my breath, I slide out of bed to be greeted by my hideous reflection in the mirror across the room. Did I really forget to take my make-up off last night? I have mascara streaked across my cheeks and lipstick stains on my chin. A lock of white hair is matted over one eye. I look terrible. I _feel_ terrible.

I grab a shower and stumble downstairs feeling somewhat better until I notice the list I'd put up on my fridge the night before. It takes me a minute or two to remember what it is. While I'm putting the coffee machine on, I read it over a couple of times. Geez, I really must've been drunk last night. As I survey the mess my friends and I had made of the living room, I decide that the second point on my list – namely, tidying the apartment – doesn't seem very appealing right now. I'm in two minds as to whether I should just tear the whole damn thing up, but on the other hand, I feel a lingering sense of resolution and decide this is one list I really _ought_ to follow. Maybe.

After breakfast I lounge on the couch and switch on the TV. It makes me realize just how much crap they put on in the mornings. Jesus Christ, no wonder that housewife in the apartment below me has gone insane! I switch off the TV in disgust. I start to tidy up the living room, but decide I really can't be bothered to do the washing up so I leave that in the sink – along with the past couple of day's worth of already dirty dishes. I stare at the list on the fridge again. It's torturing me. So I get out a book about a murder mystery in a fashion house that Betsy had lent me about a year ago. After two pages I remember why I gave up reading it in the first place. Damn.

Okay, it's day two of being unemployed and I'm already as bored as hell. Sure, I'd originally thought that this was going to be a lovely break from the working world. I'd have time to find myself. I'd have time to get in touch with the natural surroundings and perhaps take up painting or photography or something artsy along that line.

But after an hour of attempting to draw a dog and coming up with something that resembled something more like a cross between a duck and a cow, I realize that this art stuff just isn't me. Besides, this whole spiritual crap about 'finding myself' is really a bunch of bull. I mean, I already know who I am. It says so right on my driver's license. Is there really anything else I have yet to know?

I trudge into the kitchen to pour myself a drink. And what do you think I end up looking at? Yup, that damned list, with that first line glaring out at me – _find a job_. So why not, dammit! It's not like I really have anything else better to do. I decide to be sensible and have a go. Realizing that the first thing I'll need is a resume, I switch on my old dusty Pentium two computer (Hey! With the price of a computer, I can buy a whole new outfit from head to toe – is there really any other option?). Finding my resume – that hasn't been updated for at least two years now – I gasp at the horrifically dull document. Even if I add that I've been working at Joe Co. for the last two years now, my resume still looks as if it belongs to someone who's just graduated from college with barely the grades, which isn't so far from the truth since it did take me an extra year to complete my degree, because… Well, better not to go there, girl. That was a period of my life I'd definitely rather forget.

I look at my skills section and realize that the best asset I have written down is that I'm extremely organized (a skill that would be completely disregarded if someone looked around my apartment just once). It doesn't take me long to realize that I need to spice up my resume – drastically.

Cracking my fingers, I begin prettying up my words and occasionally stretching the truth here and there.

Hmm… _Bilingual in English and French._ Sounds about right… so, maybe I'm not technically fluent in French but I did take French all throughout high school so that must count for something. I'm pretty sure that once someone gets me started, all that knowledge will come back to me. And I'm sure I learned a lot… though in all honesty, the only thing I can recall is how cute the quarterback, Freddy, was, and how I had desperately wanted to jump his bones. Hey, I was young and the hormones were out of control then, it's only natural.

Let's see… _GPA upon graduating_… I think I had something like 3.32. That sounds about right. Sure, I'm thinking that it might have been more like 2.33 but all numbers ultimately mean the same anyway… it's not like they really exist. It's all a concept in the mind. What the heck? I'm already full blown lying anyway, I might as well put down that I graduated with honors as well!

I mean, aren't resumes supposed to just grab the employer's attention so they'll call you back? It's not like they really expect all of the things to be true; and once you get that call for the interview, all you have to do is show that you're competent and bang, you're hired!

So, while I'm at it:

_Word Typing Speed: 90WPM_

_Extensive knowledge of Microsoft Office_

_Completed a First Aid course with certification_

_Completed a year of traveling around the world with Peace Corps._

Fine, even I have to admit that the last one is rather outrageous so I delete that. But I do change my being bilingual to trilingual, because technically I do know Spanish. How? Well, when I was little, I'd be home alone after school, so I had to go over to the old immigrant lady down the road until my momma came back. All she spoke was Spanish and I must have understood her or how else would I have managed to understand her wanting to watch Spanish soap operas with me every day? All the dialogue from those ghastly shows must have sunk in, right?

I click 'print' and before I know it, I'm already returning to my apartment feeling quite satisfied with myself. I've dropped off ten resumes in total at all different types of firms, some that I frankly don't even remember the name of. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that I should be getting a call back soon.

And by golly, that night I do. However, there is a slight problem… the receptionist spoke to me in French. Apparently, the firm is called _Laurier et Lauriel Co., _since it was founded by two Frenchmen who took a chance in New York just after the Great Depression.

So, the conversation kind of went like this:

"Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Raven. Nous avons reçu votre résumé, et vous etes qualifier pour la position. Est-ce-que vous serait libre pour un intervue, demain après-midi a deux heures?" the cheery, heavily accented voice talks at the speed of a machine gun going off.

"Ahh…oui?" I answer, not quite sure what I'm saying yes to, though I believe she did say the word 'interview'.

"C'est parfait! Demain après-midi a deux heures. Au-revoir."

"WAIT!" I cry, while trying to find a pen and a piece of paper.

"Oui?" she asks, surprised by my outburst.

"Umm…can you…non, ahh…," I scratch my head as I try to recall how to ask her to repeat what she says then decide to try my luck by trying to make 'repeat' sound French. "Ré…pétez?" I offer, praying that she will understand.

"D'accord. Demain après-midi a deux heures – comprends?" she replies, rather slowly.

I jot down what I can, and mumble a quick "Merci" to her before hanging up.

So, I'm pretty sure I have an interview although when exactly, I'm not quite so certain. Not to mention, where the hell is _Laurier et Lauriel Co._ anyway? And what do they do? Oh gosh… I guess the first thing is to figure out when the hell my interview is.

So, I pick up the phone and dial Emma – after all, she is fluent in five different languages, French being one of them.

"What do you want?" she answers rather rudely, even for her.

"Well, hello to you too," I say rather sarcastically, peeved that she's being so off-hand to me when I'm obviously her favorite.

"Yeah, hello. But, babe, make it quick. I'm in a rush," she says and actually sounds it.

"Oh well, in that case. What the hell does, 'De man a pray me dee a deus airs com pra' mean?" I question.

"Tomorrow afternoon at two o'clock, understand?" she replies.

"Thanks! I guess my pronunciation isn't that bad after all," I state, feeling satisfied with myself since Emma understood what I was talking about.

"If that's all you need, then I'm gonna go. And Rogue, your pronunciation is _that _bad. Fortunately for you, my French is impeccable. Talk to you later!" And she hangs up on me before I can make my retort – though, I don't actually have one so I'm slightly relieved that she hung up on me.

Now that I know what time my interview is, all I have to do is find out what the company is about, what position I applied for and how to speak fluent French within the next twenty four hours.

Oh boy…

-xXx-

Unbuttoning the top of her gray Versace blazer to expose breasts that looked as though they were fighting to get out of her tight black corset top, she leaned back in her chair as she tapped an agitated finger on the table.

Signaling the waiter over, he scurried quickly to her and asked, "What can I get you, Ms. Frost?"

"The time, and another brandy," she requested in a tone that merely said she wasn't one to tolerate incompetence.

"It's half past seven, and the brandy is coming right up," the waiter replied and hurried to fulfill her order.

"The bastard is half an hour late… I'll teach him not to mess with my time…" she grumbled while her eyes remained focused on the entrance. Tonight was supposed to be the biggest deal of her professional career. The Frost Marketing Firm was about to make millions if this merger went through. But to do so, she needed the signature of the man who owned the other Firm – the slightly more powerful company. And by the look of it, he wasn't taking this deal as seriously as she was and Emma Frost hated when people don't take her seriously.

She didn't fight off three siblings to become the CEO of Frost Industries so arrogant men like him could blow her off as another simpering woman who'd submit to his will at a drop of a hat. If he thought he could get away with a game like that, he would have it coming, because an angry Emma was definitely the most vicious kind in this messy world of business.

"Hello, Emma. I deeply apologize for my late arrival. I hope you haven't been waiting long." A masculine voice interrupted her thoughts, as he took a seat from across her.

Narrowing her eyes at her potential business partner, she stated icily, "It's quite alright."

"But you do look lovely tonight," he complimented her and flashed her a smile.

She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes as she feigned a modest smile at him. "Thank you," she managed to spit out though she was fuming inside. His very presence was enough for her to hate him already. He had unruly long blonde hair, and though he was dressed in a handsome pinstriped suit, she couldn't but feel that he was trying to patronize her in some way. She couldn't stand men who tried to push her around, so she quickly got to business.

"Well, Warren, let's lay out the facts and get this over with," she began brusquely.

"Without a drink for me first, Emma? That isn't very good business etiquette, is it?" he asked, pointing out her failure to offer him a drink.

Annoyed, she immediately snapped her fingers and her waiter arrived with a glass of brandy in his hands. "Here you go, Ms. Frost," he said and placed it in front of her.

"Thank you," she replied with a certain amount of condescension before raising an eyebrow in her rival's direction. "Mr. Worthington?"

"A scotch on the rocks would be great," he answered, bemused at the way she was obviously getting impatient with him. To him, Emma Frost was simply another woman who thought she could join the ranks of the richest men in the world by trying to conduct herself like a man. Yet it was obvious to him that when she was desperate enough, she would resort back to womanly tactics, using her sexuality to her advantage. He was onto her, and he was ready for anything she swung his way.

"Now that that's out of the way, let's get down to business," she began again irritably. "Basically, this merger would mean that we would have the top marketing firm in the country and undoubtedly would attract an influx of clients. I've calculated that our earnings could increase by five fold within the next two years. I really don't think this warrants much of a discussion, Warren. All that needs to be done is for you to provide a signature..." So saying she slid a piece of paper across to him.

Smiling at her brisk, no-nonsense attitude, he casually took the paper in his hands while he scanned it – thoroughly. After a few minutes, she hissed, "Well? Aren't you going to sign it?"

Chuckling at her impatience, he said, "A little eager aren't we?"

"Warren, cut the crap. You know as well as I know that this could be the biggest merger of the year, and with that portion of the company alone, we could basically shut down the rest of all our operations and _still_ bring in the same amount of money," she reasoned.

"I don't know, Emma. Considering that my company is what would be attracting the clientele, for Frost Industries to gain fifty percent of the profits doesn't seem quite…right," he ended slowly and placed the paper down on the table.

Glaring at him, she tried to remain calm. She'd never liked Worthington. Since the first day at the same Ivy League School their parents had sent them to, she knew that she hated him. He was pompous. He was arrogant. He was conceited. Not to mention, he'd rejected her advances all those years ago. And she didn't like it when she didn't get what she wanted, then and now.

Of course, she hadn't the slightest desire for him anymore, but she craved the merger more than anything.

"Warren, let's be reasonable. My firm has just as many clients as yours does. We agreed that fifty-fifty would be fair," Emma said in a calmer voice, trying her hand at reasoning with him, just in case he'd momentarily forgotten what was at stake.

"Emma, we both know that my company is the older and more trusted company. You know that you need us more than we need you," Warren stated coolly and leaned back while the waiter placed his drink in front of him.

"You _know_ that this merger would be as beneficial to you as it is to me. Don't try to deny it." Emma hissed while she was restraining herself from slapping him in the face.

Warren simply downed his drink in response, got up, and prepared to leave. "I'm going to have to re-think this, Emma. Perhaps we could get our lawyers together to discuss the technicalities of this contract. I'll have my secretary call you," he said briskly.

She stood up in a hurry, seething. "You're not going to back out on me now, Warren. Don't you dare mess with me."

"No offence, Emma, but threats aren't going to motivate me to sign the merger any more than the rest of the crap you've been laying on me so far. We'll sort this out, but excuse me, I'm late for a date. And, dear, a little word of advice; try to keep those puppies in your blouse, don't want them scaring little children or seniors, do you?" And with that, Warren promptly turned and left – leaving an extremely angry blonde who wanted nothing more than to cause him to suffer a slow and painful death.

-oOo-

Why didn't anyone tell me that lying on a resume would come back and bite me in the ass?

Shouldn't there be a book of some sort that informs of such things? There should be televised ads, or billboards or something to tell the public that it's never a good idea to lie on a resume.

Or maybe I should start writing this rulebook thing down. Point number 1: Always taste your own concoctions. Point number 2:

**Never lie on your resume, and if you do, at least have some background on what you lied about. **

Considering the fact I'm finally working on my List of Priorities, maybe a rulebook will actually force me to start taking my own advice.

After a night of studying the French book I'd managed to dig out the back of my closet, and reading up as much on the company as I possibly could, I head out for my interview at the Laurier et Lauriel Company Headquarters. I'm so exhausted I nearly jump a red light on the way there. Not a good start. It's Friday and I should have been having lunch with Betsy. To be honest, the way she's been acting lately, I don't know what's worse – listening to her drivel on about the rainforest, or my impending interview. Which reminds me. I really need to have a word with Betsy about her relationship with Neal these days. The four of us – me, Jean, Betsy and Emma – have known each other since we were teens and met at summer camp one fateful day. None of us really have a thing in common, but for some reason we clicked, and we've been inseparable ever since. Nevertheless the past month or so, I've barely felt like I know Betts at all.

Oh well – no point worrying about that now. I spend the rest of my journey desperately rehearsing all the French I've learnt.

"Bon après-midi… Je m'appelle Rogue… Ah mean, Anna Raven… Oh shit…"

I _knew_ it was a mistake to let the girls christen me Rogue after that drunken binge four years back – every day it gets harder and harder just to remember that my real name is Anna. But then, of course, four years ago I'd just left Mississippi for good, finally joining my three friends in New York after deciding to leave my old life behind forever. Having a new name hadn't seemed so out of place back then, at a time when all I'd wanted was to forget my past and begin anew… But it's definitely best not to remember that now. _Look forward, Rogue, look forward_, I repeat firmly to myself.

To tell the truth, I'm thinking I've got myself into more trouble than I'd originally bargained for. Thanks to my less than extensive reading on Laurier et Lauriel Co., I know they're one of the biggest perfume retailers _worldwide_. So how come I've never heard of them? No doubt Betsy will be able to tell me.

The Laurier et Lauriel building is enough to scare the living daylights out of me, and as soon as I see the fancy-looking tower block I almost turn tail and flee. But there's no way I'm going to back out of this now. I park the car and head into the building with as much confidence as I can muster. This is something I'm determined to get on top of, no matter what.

The building is about fifty stories of art deco architecture, streamlined pillars and two-toned marble floors. The reception area's about as big as a soccer pitch. Even dressed as I am in my charcoal gray Armani suit, I feel way out of depth in this environment. I walk up to the crimson-lipped, bespectacled receptionist, who cordially directs me to the interview room. So far, so good.

I take the elevator to the thirtieth floor and step out onto plush, cream-colored carpets. The corridor smells of white musk. Man, oh man, oh man. You can bet that right about now I start to pray very hard indeed.

Here it is – Interview Room. I stand outside the door and give my suit a quick brush down as I silently attempt to psyche myself up for the inevitable ordeal. I enter the room hoping that my 'Teach-Yourself-French' is up to the job.

I'm greeted by a spacious, bright and airy room, large, but welcoming. At the furthest end of the room, in front of a wall-sized window, two people, a man and a woman, are sitting at a _huge_ chrome and glass table. Beside the man is an empty seat. Oookay. So I'm up against a panel of three. Noooo problem. Rogue can handle this.

"Bon après-midi," I greet them before they can say a word, eager to make a good first impression. "Je m'appelle Ro…uh, Anna Raven." Oh crap, I nearly screwed that one up big-time!

They both stand up and shake my hand over the humongous table, seemingly both surprised and pleased at the fact that I'm speaking French. Wow. Looks like I've scored in that department.

"Soyez le bienvenue Laurier et Lauriel, Mademoiselle Raven," the man says in smooth, effeminate tones, passing me a warm, friendly smile. I immediately decide I could get to like this guy. He's slim but well-toned in a plain black suit and dove-blue polo neck, sporting a neatly trimmed, obviously dyed platinum haircut. No doubt about it – this guy's a charmer. But I get the feeling he _definitely_ doesn't swing _my_ way. "Je suis Jean-Paul Beaubier. Voila, ma collègue, Monet St. Croix." He gestures to the woman beside him, a beautiful yet rather haughty-looking, brown-haired, tan-skinned twenty-something. She shakes my hand like she's shaking a wilting flower.

"Asseyez-vous." She indicates to the chair beside me while looking rather disdainfully over my gray suit. Darn, I knew I'd never get away with wearing two-year-old fashions in _this_ place.

I sink into my seat gratefully. My legs are just about to give anyway.

"You'll have to forgive us," Jean-Paul begins in French once I'm settled down. "Our colleague is a little late." At least, I think that's what he's saying. I glance over at the empty seat beside him. Dammit! Does this mean I'm going to have to continue making small talk in French until this guy shows up? This is definitely _not_ my day.

I sit and twiddle my thumbs, too scared to initiate a conversation yet painfully aware of the awkward silence. The clock at the other end of the room ticks away, oblivious to my plight. After a while Jean-Paul starts to make a bit of small talk about the weather in French, which I thankfully manage to pull off okay. I feel like a kid in an oral examination, waiting for this last interviewer to come along. Damn the guy! I mean, how unprofessional can you get, turning up late to an interview? Well, whoever he is, he's just about turned a bad day worse. I don't think my pathetic knowledge of French can last a lot longer than the next two sentences.

Thankfully, just as I start to think this is my excuse to back out of this entire charade, there's a short rap at the door. I finally turn to face the person who's just been instrumental in prolonging what I already know is going to be the most torturous interview I'll ever experience.

And in walks the most gorgeous guy I've ever met in my life.

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	3. Dirty Tricks

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(3) Dirty Tricks**

Stunned into awe by this unexpected vision of manhood, I jump to my feet without even so much as a thought.

"Bonjour, mes amis," he greets in what sounds to be impeccable French to my inexperienced ears. "Sorry 'bout bein' late. Have t' have my cigarette break, y'know."

In a matter of seconds, I've all but forgotten the fact that I'd wanted to wring this guy's neck. Instead, I find myself staring at him. No, make that ogling. Boy oh boy, this guy is _hot_. All 6 foot 2 inches of lean, toned muscle, framed in a smart beige suit and white shirt, all cut to show off his gorgeous body to perfection. He doesn't take a bit of notice of me as he strides into the room, his jacket slung casually over one shoulder. As he crosses the room he gives me a view of his aquiline profile, the chiseled nose and strong jaw, a few thick, auburn locks straying over and onto his forehead. I notice he's wearing shades, and even though it's kind of odd for the middle of winter, one look at this guy and you'd swear shades in winter was the new fashion.

"B-Bonjour." I find the words spilling involuntarily out of my mouth, despite better judgement. "Je suis Rogue."

_Shit!_

He stops in the middle of the room, turns, and stares at me. Up until that moment, I don't think I knew the meaning of the phrase 'when sparks fly'. In that one shared glance it's like a few thousand fireworks go off all at once. Oh _wow_!

"Rogue, hmm?" he drawls in that oh-so-seductively accented voice. He looks half-amused, half-intrigued. _Shit, shit, shit!_

"Uh...No, Ah mean, uh, je m'appelle Anna Raven," I blurt out. Oh God, why can't the earth just swallow me up right about now?

He raises an eyebrow and slips the shades off slowly. For a moment I'm stunned to find myself staring into his eyes – red on black eyes, eyes the color of deepest crimson. His gaze runs over me without the slightest hint of shame or subtlety, yet with such intensity that I feel a blush begin to creep up my cheeks. I've never felt so undressed with a single gaze in all my life.

"Remy LeBeau," he finally introduces himself in return. Then he does something no guy has _ever_ done to me before. He scoops my hand up and kisses it. "Enchanté," he adds, with a small, suggestive smile.

"Remy," Monet begins warningly from behind him, "Please."

He bestows me with another dazzling smile before dropping my hand and turning to take his seat at the table. As he does so he gives Monet an outrageous wink.

"Ah, ma chere Monet, I hope you're still on for our date tonight, non?" he asks unabashedly. Monet doesn't dare say a word, a blush of her own crossing the cheeks of her rather prim and haughty face. That should've been enough to warn me about Remy LeBeau's reputation, but I was still too busy recovering from his dazzling smile to take any notice.

"Remy..." Jean-Paul shoots at him, but even he looks a little hot under the collar at his colleague's flamboyant entrance.

Without further ado, Remy takes his seat at the table with an air of casual elegance. I sink back into my chair wishing I'd decided to wear the sexy red suit Emma had cajoled me into buying the other week. For some reason, all I can think of right now is a cold shower and a stiff drink.

-oOo-

On the other side of town, in the executive director's office at Frost Industries HQ, Emma was still silently fuming over her meeting with Warren the night before. Scattered across her desk were several copies of the papers he'd refused to sign. How dare he, she wondered? How dare he treat her like dirt? No man messed with Emma Grace Frost and lived to tell the tale! And what was that comment he'd made about her breasts! She'd teach that pompous and arrogant twit to insult her to her face! She'd show Warren Kenneth Worthington III _just _how threatening she could be!

Emma gritted her teeth and pushed the contracts out of her sight. As if the situation with Warren wasn't bad enough, her gardener had just quit and left her with a nine-acre garden that was badly in need of attention. She'd mocked his resignation, saying she didn't need a gardener in the middle of winter anyway, only to discover that her ponds had filled up with dead leaves and consequently, a couple of dead $5,000 koi. And now she had to waste yet more time and money advertising for another wretched man to fill his post.

She was just about to call her secretary and order her to put an advertisement in the newspaper when her cell phone went off. Picking it up, she saw that the caller was none other than Betsy. Emma let out something between a growl and bark. Hadn't she told both Rogue and Betts _not_ to call her on her business line? She was really going to have to talk to them about that some time.

"What?" she practically snapped once she'd accepted the call. She wasn't particularly in the mood to hear how CFC's damaged the ozone layer.

"Well, _excuse_ me," Betsy's cultured accent replied indignantly. "I didn't know that's how friends greeted each other these days."

"This is my business line," Emma retorted rudely. "I thought I told you to call me on my private line! I could have an important client trying to phone me right at this very moment!"

"Bloody hell, Emma, what on earth's got into you?" Betsy replied, clearly offended. "If you _must_ know, I was going to ask whether you and your significant other wanted to come and join me and Neal tonight at this new eco-club they've just opened across town. But if that's the attitude you're going to take, then..."

Emma gritted her teeth, trying to calm her temper. Betsy _had_ been acting strangely lately, but there was no reason to take things out on her.

"Sorry, Betts," she finally returned, her tone more level, "but it looks like I'm going to have to stay over late tonight. Besides, my 'significant other' got dumped by yours truly last night. And I think three would be too much of a crowd, don't you?"

"Oh, Emma, luv..." It was Betsy's turn to sound sheepish. "I didn't know... Why didn't you tell me!"

"Oh, it wasn't anything serious," Emma replied, getting out her nail filer. "The only thing the guy was worth keeping around for was his soufflés and his shiatsu massages, and even _they_ were below my usual acceptable standards."

"Well, you don't sound upset, so I'll take your word for it. But Emma, darling, you're simply going to have to phone me and tell me all the juicy details tomorrow."

"Sure thing, honey. You just have fun tonight and try not to drink too much organic punch."

She cut the line before Betsy could work out whether her parting jibe had been serious or not. What she hadn't told her purple-haired, ex-model friend was that the thought of spending the night alone scared the hell out of her.

Sighing violently, Emma punched the button on her intercom and called impatiently for her secretary.

"Jubilee! Jubilee! Where are you! I want you to place an advert for a gardener in the newspapers right away!"

-xXx-

Shit.

I'm only eight minutes into my interview and I've already screwed it up beyond human reason. As if it wasn't bad enough that I'm desperately trying to speak terribly-pronounced French to a panel of three interviewers, I'm also making a fool out of myself in front of an extremely hot guy. Can my day get any worse?

I _knew_ following through on this List of Priorities thing was a bad idea.

"So," Remy LeBeau asks me in French from his end of the table. "Tell us a little about yourself. What do you do in your leisure time? Any hobbies?"

Okay, this isn't so bad. Since this was Lesson One of my 'Teach Yourself French' book, I actually rehearsed this topic pretty well. I manage to run off a few automated sentences about being able to dance (does boogie-ing down the club on a Friday night count?), singing (at karaoke on Thursday nights, and not half badly either), and playing guitar (which I haven't touched since... well, the Incident four years ago or thereabouts). Then I add some stuff about being into fashion, which I hope will recommend me to the perfume industry. My recital is by no means perfect, but it isn't bad either. In fact, I'm quite proud of myself.

"You like to dance, huh?" Remy gives me an intense look from those dark red eyes, and I manage to nod weakly, but can't find the French to reply. So he smiles – this slow, seductive curl of the lips – and suddenly all the English has flooded out of my brain as well. Great.

"And what do you think you can bring to the company?" Jean-Paul inquires.

Uh oh. The dreaded question every interviewer asks, and I can't even form a sentence in my own native language, let alone French. I spend the next five minutes struggling through an answer like a paraplegic attempting to climb Everest. I feel absolutely pathetic and decide here and now that my first interview has been a complete and utter disaster. Monet St. Croix is desperately trying to stifle her laughter; Jean-Paul Beaubier has a look of extreme concentration on his face as he attempts to keep up with every word I'm saying; Remy LeBeau, on the other hand, is gazing placidly over the table at what seems to be my chest.

Oh Lord have mercy and strike me down with a bolt of lightning right now PLEASE!

In the end I just give up, and I must look like I'm about to cry because Remy suddenly decides to take pity on me.

"It's okay, Ms. Raven," he assures me after a moment, flashing another winning smile my way. "I don't t'ink you need to impress us with your...most excellent French anymore."

Monet gives a little snigger under her breath when she sees me gape at his unmistakable Cajun accent. I'm already considering jumping across the table and gouging out those pretty eyes of hers.

"Actually," Remy continues in a more serious tone, "the Laurier and Lauriel company hasn't had much of a connection wit' France since the end of the Second World War. Most of our operations take place here, in de US. English is and always has been our choice of language here."

Two things immediately become apparent to me. One, I've made a complete and utter fool of myself; and two, this arrogant bastard of a Remy LeBeau knew from the very beginning that I hadn't a clue how to speak French.

"_What_?" I cry, half standing up, my temper flaring as I realize a cruel trick has been played on me. Jean-Paul glances over, confused.

"You mean to say you didn't know this about our company?" he asks incredulously.

Well, what can I say? That I just_ happened_ to send a doctored resume to a company I didn't know the first thing about, in the vain hope that I might just have an outside chance of getting a job? Dammit, the truth is hard enough admitting to myself, let alone to these high-flying execs. Face it Rogue, you've blown it. You blew it the moment you stepped into this room. You're such a yutz that you even let that cocky prick across the table play you for all you were worth! No way out of this one, uh-uh. Time to save what face you can, gal, and get outta here sharpish!

I stand up quickly, mustering what dignity I have left.

"Well, Ah really don't think there's any more to discuss here," I begin indignantly, "so Ah guess we should just stop wastin' one another's time and end this interview. Ah suppose Ah deserved to be treated with disrespect since Ah wasn't willin' t' take the job seriously. Ah'm sorry for takin' up your time." I level a cold, hard glare in Remy's direction. "_And_ for takin' up your precious cigarette break. Maybe y'all oughta think 'bout arrivin' t' your interviews on time, _Monsieur_ LeBeau, yah just might get some respect from the other people you interrogate."

I spin on my heel to leave the room, congratulating myself on my second most-satisfying exit speech in three days. But just as I'm about to reach the door and finally escape this embarrassing predicament, Remy stops me.

"Wait a minute."

I turn expectantly, thinking he's going to reprimand me for my outspokenness. Does the guy have to make this anymore of a torture than it is already? But there isn't the slightest ounce of anger on that handsome face of his. If anything, he looks rather amused – which is enough to send my blood pressure soaring with rage. Oh? So he thinks this is funny? Just wait till I get my hands on that despicable, good-for-nothing, gorgeous, fit, athletic, positively edible...

"Having _personally_ looked through your resume," he continues casually, snapping me out of my reverie, "I happen t' think you're actually a very strong candidate."

What? I hadn't expected him to say _that_.

"Yes," Jean-Paul nods beside him, "I, too, think so. The skills you have listed in your resume seem perfectly suited to our marketing and advertisement department. At the moment we could do with a person of your talent in the company. You say you worked previously in finance, non? In Joe Co.?"

Well, this is a surprise.

"Uh... Yes. For two years," I nod.

"And you quit because?" Monet asks me. I get the sense she doesn't like me, especially since Remy made such a display of kissing my hand – the slimeball. But her question doesn't faze me. Now that I don't have to worry about French anymore my brain's come back.

"Ah wanted a change. Somethin' new, exciting...refreshing." (I hope Jean isn't going to mind me borrowing her phrases here.) "Ah guess Ah kinda figured that working in the marketing section of a renowned global company could provide me with a new kind of...stimulation."

I involuntarily shoot Remy a glance. What the hell is all that about? Sometimes my body really doesn't behave the way my mind tells it to.

"Well, you'll certainly find that things can be stimulating here at L&L," Jean-Paul grins expansively. "Our company motto is 'expand creativity, promote inspiration'. Everyone's always bursting with new ideas. There's never a dull moment!"

_Oh I bet there isn't_, I think, as I glare over at that infuriatingly handsome Cajun.

"Well, Ms. Raven," Remy begins, taking charge again. "Dere are still a few t'ings my colleagues an I have to discuss regarding your position here, but we all seem to agree you'd be a ...perfect candidate." He gives me one of those looks again, but I've wised up to his swamp rat charms and the only thing I feel is disgust. Won't he ever stop so blatantly checking me out? Not even Joe was _that_ crass. "Well, I guess de interview's over," he continues, standing up. "You can expect t' hear from us regarding your acceptance some time on Monday. T'anks for comin', Ms. Raven."

"Thank you," I mumble half-heartedly in return. I shake Jean-Paul's hand with genuine feeling, and just about manage to do the same for Monet. But as far as I'm concerned, Remy can go and stick his hand up that cute ass of his. So I ignore him completely before turning and flouncing out the room.

Well, Roguey, you may not have slam-dunked that one, but somehow you definitely managed to get the ball in the net.

Then I remember just how badly I'd made a fool of myself stumbling through all that needless French.

I practically run all the way back to my car out of sheer embarrassment.

-oOo-

Elisabeth Braddock was _not_ happy.

Here she was, huddled inside the tiny SmartCar she'd bought after she'd dumped her humongous, gasoline-guzzling SUV, completely lost. She coasted the block at about ten miles per hour, looking desperately for a club that simply wasn't there. The car behind her was honking rabidly and Neal wasn't picking up his cell phone.

"For the love of God where _is_ this place!" she cursed under her breath.

Neal had patiently written down all the directions to _'Le Jardin'_, the so-called eco-club that had just opened not a week ago. Yet she _still_ couldn't find the damned place. If only Emma had agreed to come along – Emma had the honing instincts of an eagle, while Betsy's sense of direction was nothing short of abysmal.

"I just _know_ it was down this road!" she muttered angrily to herself. The car behind her hooted her one more time and then sped past, clipping her wing mirror.

"Oh screw you, you great, sodding bastard!" she raged at the fast-disappearing driver. This really wasn't doing her blood pressure any good. Once she got home she'd have to do another round of tantric yoga just to calm her nerves. Damn! There was nothing for it. She was going to have to get out and ask for directions.

Betsy turned off onto an unknown side road and parked the SmartCar on the curb. She tried calling Neal again, but he still wasn't picking up.

"Where on earth is he?" she mused to herself. She knew he'd spent the day at an activist rally, but he was supposed to have left half an hour ago to meet up with her. Maybe his phone was dead. Maybe he was working late. Or maybe...

She shook her head violently and got out the car. A few yards down the street, light and techno were pouring out of what seemed to be a small nightclub. Several people were standing around outside, laughing and chatting, some smoking and some with drinks in their hands. It was a lifestyle Betsy had been used to in the days before she'd quit the supermodel life. She hadn't been out much since then – that's why she'd been excited when Neal had told her about _'Le Jardin'_. But still, she felt a pang in her heart when she saw all the beautiful young people out there enjoying themselves, and she didn't know why. After all, they were all so oblivious, weren't they? They didn't care about the world like Betsy did – they were all as selfish and blind as she'd once been, before she'd met Neal. So why should she so suddenly miss her old life? She had something new to believe in now. She had principles. And more importantly, she had a guy who respected them.

Nevertheless she passed a nostalgic sigh as she walked up to the club entrance. She was surprised at how popular it seemed to be, being tucked away as it was in some small and murky back street. She looked up with curiosity at the neon sign over door. _'The Hideaway'_, it read, in crackling red and orange letters.

"Can I help yer, lady?" a gruff voice asked beside her. Turning, Betsy saw that it was one of the bouncers addressing her. He was immaculately dressed in a plain black suit and red bow tie, yet this neat ensemble couldn't take away the gruffness of his appearance. Still, underneath that rough-and-ready, wolf-like exterior, she caught a sense of the compassion and integrity of the man within. He was shorter than her, which was not much out of the ordinary for Betsy, since she was a model – but he was a lot shorter than any other man she'd met, perhaps only about 5'3".

"I hope so," she replied. "I'm looking for a place called _'Le Jardin'_. It's a new club that opened just last week. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

The bouncer appeared to think hard for a moment, then shook his head slowly.

"Sorry, lady. Ain't heard of it. 'Fraid I ain't much acquainted with all those fancy new places that're springin' up round here nowadays. Man like me... the only places I know are the live houses and the dingy little bars no one else goes to."

"Oh well, never mind," Betsy sighed, glancing at her watch. "I suppose there's someone else round here who's bound to have heard of it."

"Perhaps I could be of some assistance?" a low and charming masculine voice offered behind her. Whirling round in surprise, Betsy found herself face to face with what she had to admit was probably one of the most gorgeous men walking. He was actually taller than her, and sported a pair of casual pants and a crimson silk shirt that matched the color of her clingy red sheath dress to perfection. Scraggly auburn hair framed a face that was half obscured by a pair of shades, although she swore she could see a glint of red behind the dark lenses.

"I take it dis beautiful _femme_ is lookin' for a certain place not far from here," he began again, the charm practically dripping from his voice. "Maybe Remy LeBeau can help her out."

Betsy pulled a face, repulsed at the way this guy was so shamelessly hitting on her. It was obvious to her that he was the kind of guy who'd never been refused before – his overbearing confidence made that a dead cert. But in the model business she'd met plenty of men like him, and she knew exactly how to handle them.

"Maybe he can," she replied dryly. "I'm looking for the _'Le Jardin'_ club."

Remy, it seemed, was not so easily put off.

"Dat a British accent, p'tit?" he asked smoothly, ignoring her comment. "Remy jus' loves British accents. Seems we have somet'in' in common, cherie. Maybe we could work on our accents t'gether; or maybe we could teach each other t' talk in tongues."

Betsy snorted. Was this guy for real?

"Frankly," she began coldly. "I think your attempt at a French accent – intriguing though it is – is the worst I've heard to date. Now if you don't mind, I have a _date _of my own to keep."

She stalked off back to her car without so much as another glance in his direction.

"Hey!" Remy called after her receding figure. "You wan' find _'Le Jardin'_, you gotta turn left off dis road! Den turn right at de lights, you can't miss it! Was real nice talkin' t' y', chere!"

But Betsy was already inside the car and revving up.

Remy shrugged, turned, and passed the bouncer his trademark dazzling smile. Unfortunately, it didn't work on the short and stocky man, who snarled back at Remy like he was a very bad smell.

Behind them, Betsy did a U-turn and turned off to the right.

-xXx-

Monet St. Croix had already been waiting fifteen minutes in _'The Hideaway'_ before Remy finally turned up.

"You're late again, LeBeau," she chided him as he sidled up to join her at the bar.

"You know me an' bein' fashionably late, chere," he grinned, signaling the bartender to serve him the usual.

"I know you and your obsession with all that hair of yours, you mean," she corrected him slyly, yanking his tie and pulling his face down for a searing kiss.

"I guess you do know me better den most," he murmured once they'd broken away, allowing his hand to wander down familiarly over her shapely butt.

She laughed. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"But wit' you, Monet, it's de truth," he bantered back.

"And does that scare you?" she probed. It was a standing joke at L&L that Remy knew all the girls in the company in all the ways that mattered, but that he couldn't tell you a single thing about them. As it was, Remy could only shrug evasively in reply to her question. Although he prided himself on being fearless, there was one thing he truly was afraid of, and that was intimacy. But the reason behind that was something he wasn't about to let on to anyone.

Monet merely grinned and sipped prettily at her snowball.

"It just so happens," she began, "that since I'm the one who knows you better than most, I _also_ know that the only reason you suggested this date was because you wanted to discuss business. Isn't that so?"

Remy grinned humorously at her. "Looks like de day I hide anyt'ing from you, chere, is de day I'm cold an' in my grave."

"Naturally," she replied coolly. "So – what's on your mind?"

"Anna Raven," he answered simply.

She looked surprised at that.

"The girl we interviewed? What about her? You weren't really serious about taking her on, were you?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" he paused as he lit up a cigarette. "Jean-Paul seemed to like her, and he's de bossman, non? I talked t' him after de fact, an' he said she'd do right fine in marketing."

"But Remy, the girl made a complete and utter fool of herself, not to mention she obviously lied on her resume about being bilingual. Why shouldn't everything else she wrote down be a lie as well?"

Remy shrugged and downed half his bourbon in one go. It wasn't like he hadn't lied and faked his way to the top either. Seeing his nonchalance, Monet passed him a narrowed glance.

"You _like_ her, don't you," she leveled at him.

"Sure. I _like _all de girls who work under me, Monet – as well as de guys," he replied innocently. "Dat's what we do in dis business – we take care of each other, non?"

She wasn't buying it.

"Did you hear the way she snubbed you?" she reminded him.

"Sure, I heard de way she snubbed me." He smiled self-deprecatingly. "De girl's got brass, Mon. She ain't afraid t' speak her mind. An' I could sure use a girl like dat on my team."

"And elsewhere, I should imagine," Monet quipped sourly, finishing off the rest of her drink. Dropping a generous tip into the bowl, she picked up her purse and slid off her seat. "Look, if you and Jean-Paul have made up your minds, then go ahead – hire her. I couldn't care less – she's not going to be on my staff anyway. But if you're thinking of screwing with her LeBeau, trust me, you're gonna get burned. She's not like the other girls. You touch her ass, she'll bite you right back on yours, I guarantee you."

She leaned in and planted a lingering kiss on his cheek.

"Don't worry, loverboy. I'll catch a cab home tonight. See you tomorrow."

And with that she turned and sashayed out.

-oOo-

_To be continued..._


	4. Surprises and Misgivings

**Disclaimer:** Must we be reminded that we don't own these characters? But one day, we will own them... we're living in denial.

**A/N:** Just to remind our readers, this story explores the other gals' relationships in depth as well, so don't think that just because there might seem to be a bit too few Romy moments, does not mean there won't be any. Frankly, Spice wouldn't let that happen since she has some pretty sassy sexy Romy moments planned. A hint of who Spice is: her stories are so well sewn together that I truly think she is one of the best writers ever! She's so cool just like all our wonderful readers! Kisses to all! - Sugah

* * *

**Mix 'n' Match**

**(4) Surprises and Misgivings**

Having purposely ignored the parting words of that deplorable flirt back at the club, it had taken Betsy another half an hour to locate _'Le Jardin'_. After circling the block for an extra ten minutes, she finally found a place to park the car with the place staring right at her in such a way that she felt as if it didn't want her there.

But, there she was; over an hour late, but there nonetheless.

As soon as she opened her car door, a sudden rush of cold air chilled her and she intuitively reached for the scarf she had left in the backseat. Winding it around her porcelain neck, she jumped out of her car, slammed the door shut, and walked quickly to the eco-club. When she reached the door, she realized that it didn't look the least bit inviting. The windows were covered with newspaper from the inside and the sign was a pitiful piece of wood that had _'Le Jardin' _carved into it. _There's probably still work that needs to be done_, she reasoned, and snatched the door handle open.

Slipping in quietly, she discovered that "quiet" wasn't an option, as she'd just interrupted a speech, and all eyes were focused on her.

"Sorry... I had trouble finding the place," she apologized sheepishly and quickly took an empty seat in the back row.

"Ahem... as I was saying before our interruption..." the speaker began once again, though he didn't fail to throw a dirty look towards Betsy's direction, which merely made her sink lower in her chair.

"Betsy?" a voice whispered from her left, a few rows in front. She followed the voice and found the dark, smiling face of Neal. Returning his smile, she waved as he mouthed to her, "We have to talk."

She nodded her head in agreement and as soon as the speaker was done with his speech (most of which she drowned out), she quickly approached Neal.

"Hello," she greeted, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Hi Beautiful. Are you as excited as I am?" he questioned eagerly.

"Uhh... about what?" she asked, while attempting to not look so confused.

"About the rally!" he stated excitedly.

"What rally...?" she asked slowly.

"Didn't you listen to her speech at all?" he queried with already a hint of disappointment in his tone.

"That's a woman?" Betsy questioned, throwing another surprised glance at the speaker.

"Don't you think that's besides the point? Honestly, sometimes I don't even think you're really committed to this. Perhaps you'd rather go back and wear a dead animal on your back while you walk down a catwalk with those despicable, arrogant, self-absorbed..."

"Neal! Please! I _was_ listening..." Betsy insisted. Why was it that every time they started talking about her past she felt as if he was guilt-tripping her?

"Well then, are you going to come with the group or not?" he asked in a demanding tone, as if he was giving her an ultimatum.

"Of course, I am!" she reassured him, even though she didn't have the faintest clue what he was talking about. "This is as important to me as it is to you."

"Great. I've already booked our plane tickets. We leave for Geneva this weekend," he informed her, excited once more.

"Geneva?" she queried before she could stop herself. His smile once more gave way to a frown as he said sternly, "Well, if you were listening, you would have heard that we're going to go protest at the WTO headquarters in Geneva next weekend. Apparently, they're holding a secret ministerial conference – information that hasn't even been released to the public. But our informant got wind of the news, and we're going to protest it. After all, think about all the people in those third world countries that get exploited as fast as globalization spreads – not to mention the pollution all those new factories cause. So, are you still going or not?"

"I...," she stalled and tried to process all the information in her head. She was sure she had something to do next weekend, but as she looked into Neal's gorgeous yet disapproving brown eyes, she quickly said, "Of course I am."

"Terrific. It's going to be great, Betsy," he stated enthusiastically and swept her up into his arms.

"I'm sure it will be..." she mumbled, a fake smile plastered on her face, as she desperately attempted to recall the important event she was supposed to attend that same weekend.

-oOo-

It was supposed to have been a romantic dinner for two.

Here they were, in the fanciest restaurant in town, eating a gourmet three-course meal under soft-hued candlelight, looking out over the brightly lit city while a band serenaded them with a lilting tune. To any other woman, it would've been a perfect setting. But somehow the night hadn't turned out the way Jean Grey had been anticipating.

"I don't trust him," Scott was saying, glaring at the handsome young waiter standing to attention across the room. "Did you _see_ the way he was looking at you? You shouldn't have worn that dress, Jean. It attracts too much attention."

Across from him, Jean frowned over her dinner plate, wondering what was wrong with the green satin cocktail dress her and Betsy had picked out the week before.

"Darling, I wore this dress for _you_. To be honest, I don't care what any other guy thinks about it, just as long as you like it."

She saw the look of doubt on his face, as he was torn between her obvious beauty and the fact that it was indeed attracting a lot of male attention.

"Of course, I didn't mean it that way, honey," he replied at last. "You look simply ravishing tonight. But I just don't like the way that guy's staring at you."

"Let him stare," she murmured seductively. "You know I only have eyes for you, Scott Summers."

That seemed to pacify him. _Honestly_, Jean thought, sighing inwardly, _I hadn't noticed how jealous he was. It was kind of cute at first, but now that we're nearly married, it's getting ridiculous._

"Jean," he began again, lifting up his wineglass and looking a little sheepish, "I have a confession to make."

"What?" she asked humorously. The things Scott usually felt guilty about were counting up the bills wrong or forgetting to put the dishwasher on.

"I hate to break this to you, Jean," he said, "but the Xavier Conglomerate has asked me to go to California this coming Friday to compare data results with our sister company. It looks like I'm going to be away until Sunday the following week."

"Next Sunday?" Jean exclaimed. "But by the time you get back that'll only leave us with two weeks before the wedding, and there's still so much we have left to organize..."

"I know, dear," he replied, covering her hands comfortingly with his own. "But I simply can't let Mr. Xavier down. Besides, my entire future's riding on this. You _know_ if I make an impression this time round, it'll get me a promotion."

"But, Scott," Jean reasoned, trying to keep her calm, "your promotion is hardly an issue at the moment. I bring in enough money for the _both_ of us to live comfortably on. We won't need to worry about _that_ until we buy that new house and have some kids..."

"Jean," he interrupted her quickly. "You don't understand. I wouldn't feel quite ... comfortable, if we were married and you were the main breadwinner. I want to do my part for our future _together_. See?"

Jean nodded slowly. What she wanted to say was that money didn't really matter a bit to her, but she knew how important this was to Scott and didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"What about the wedding?" she asked instead.

"I'm sure you can handle things perfectly yourself," he smiled encouragingly at her. "There's not a lot left for us to settle anyhow. And if you need my help, well, you can always call me on my cell phone, anytime of the day or night. I promise you, I'm not abandoning you. And it'll only be a week. You'll be fine. I'll be back in no time and then we can look forward to a beautiful wedding. Okay?"

"Okay," she replied doubtfully. She knew how eager Scott was to get his promotion but recently his work seemed to have become something of an obsession. It hadn't always been like this. Back when they'd first met four years ago, things had been so different; she had been attracted to his stability, his honesty, and his kindness. But since the engagement, something had changed. Suddenly, their relationship just didn't have that certain spark anymore. It had become stale and lacked the excitement she so craved. She knew that part of it was due to the change in Scott. Ever since they'd become engaged, it seemed as though every decision he made revolved around her. To most women, this might not necessarily have been a bad thing. But when Scott took it to the level of being overly jealous and constantly worrying about the money issue – even though they didn't even have a financial problem – she knew that somehow it just didn't feel right. He was so concerned about doing all that was necessary in making this marriage work that it seemed as though he'd forgotten why he was marrying her in the first place. To her, it felt as though he merely wanted a wife, not a lifelong companion.

And now here he was again, putting his career ahead of her and confirming her fears. It was hard to believe that once upon a time she would gladly have given up the profession she loved to be with him.

For the rest of the evening, Jean couldn't find the appetite to eat another thing.

-xXx-

It was Monday morning and the apartment was in a tip. Betsy was in her bedroom, sitting inside a massive pile of designer clothes, frowning to herself. She'd been at it for three hours already, and still had the whole 1300 squared feet of apartment left to clean. Ever since she'd let the maid go, she'd neglected the consequences that would arise from that particular decision. Looking around her still messy bedroom, she sighed with defeat and gave up.

What she needed wasn't a maid, but a smaller apartment. Perhaps, she could even stay at Neal's for a few days if she really couldn't stand the sight of her own place. Though, knowing him, he would order her back here to clean up the mess that she was responsible for and remind her that recycling is a must.

As much as she enjoyed Neal's company, she couldn't but feel inferior to him sometimes. Yet she simply reminded herself that Neal made her a better person – a more caring person, and ultimately, that was the only thing that mattered.

**Ring Ring**

She reached for the cordless phone on her bedside table, only to find it was missing. The ringing persisted as she rose and searched her room in a fury. After ten rings, she finally unearthed it from the bottom of the gigantic pile of clothing.

"Hello?" she answered, while trying to catch her breath.

"Betts, sugah, what took you so long?" It was Rogue, sounding excited and breathless.

"Oh, nothing," she replied, wading through the pile of clothes to get out of her bedroom. "From the sound of your voice it isn't half as exciting as what you're about to tell me."

"Oh, Betts, you ain't gonna believe it," Rogue practically squealed in reply, "but from this day forward, Ah am no longer unemployed!"

"Rogue, that's...brilliant," Betsy half-heartedly enthused, almost tripping over a bra in the process. "I must say you move pretty fast. I didn't even know you'd applied for a job, let alone gone for an interview. So? Who's the lucky company that hired you?"

"Ah'm now an assistant at the marketing and advertisement department of Laurier and Lauriel," Rogue announced proudly. Betsy gasped.

"What? Laurier and Lauriel? _The_ Laurier and Lauriel? Rogue, they're one of the biggest perfume retailers in the _world_!"

"Ah know."

"And do you _know_ who they've just signed up to be the new face of the company?"

"That, Ah _don't _know."

"Ororo Munroe."

"_What_! You're kiddin'!" Rogue practically shrieks.

"Nope. They signed her on last week." Betsy half-sighed. What she wasn't telling Rogue was that just before she'd quit her modeling job, _she_ had been about to sign a contract with L&L as their new face and representative. Now they'd signed on the world-famous African model, Ororo Munroe, who just happened to be Betsy's old friend and rival. She knew she shouldn't be feeling sore about it – she'd quit modeling voluntarily to be with Neal after all. But she couldn't help but feel a tiny little bit of regret when she remembered the excitement of the photo-shoot and the catwalk.

"Look, Rogue," she began again, "I'm really happy you landed this job, and I know you'll do just great, but I'm a little busy at the moment. Maybe I could call you later?"

"Sure." Rogue sounded puzzled nevertheless. "Just don't make it too late, 'kay? Gotta get my beauty sleep early t'night. Ah start my first day tomorrow mornin'."

"I won't, luv," Betsy assured her, and hung up. She hated to put Rogue off like that, but she really wasn't in the mood to start reminiscing about her modeling past. She had enough on her plate as it was. Just as she was about to give up on her bedroom and fix some lunch, the phone rang again.

"Hello?" she greeted on a weary breath as she answered the call.

"Elisabeth, you've been engaged for _ages_," the shrill voice of Elisabeth senior came through the line. "Who were you talking to?"

"Hello Mum. It was only a friend," Betsy replied, rolling her eyes. Her once supportive and loving mother had become a pain in the ass ever since Betsy had told her she had ended her modeling career.

"You sound out of breath. What've you been doing?" her mother inquired suspiciously.

"I was cleaning, Mum," she answered and flopped back onto the bed.

"Cleaning? Well, where's your maid?" Elisabeth Sr. queried.

"I don't have a maid anymore," Betsy responded.

"And why not? You can afford one since I know how much money I send you every month." she replied sarcastically, reminding Betsy that she was still dependent on her.

"Mother, I do _not_ need your money," she stated through clenched teeth.

"Funny, I never see you sending back the cheques," Elisabeth Sr. commented.

"Why are you calling, Mum?" Betsy finally asked, wanting more than anything to end the conversation as soon as possible.

"About this weekend. You _will _be staying for the whole weekend, I'm assuming?" her mother asked.

"What about this weekend?" Betsy queried.

"Elisabeth, have you already forgotten?" she asked in such a tone that Betsy knew that saying 'yes' would only get her a lashing from her mother.

"No... I haven't." She _knew_ there was something she was supposed to be doing – it's just that her life was so disorganized nowadays she hadn't a clue what it was...

"Well, I can tell from the tone of your voice that you most certainly have forgotten," Elisabeth Sr. stated sternly. "Really, what am I supposed to do with you? How can you forget it's the Annual Braddock Foundation Gala? Your father and I are expecting you to be here."

"But I'm going to be in Geneva," Betsy said, regretting it as soon as the words tumbled out her mouth.

"Why in the world are you going to Geneva?" Elisabeth Sr. asked with distinct displeasure.

"Neal and I are attending a conference regarding the WTO there," Betsy explained simply, making sure not to elaborate any further.

"Oh no... don't tell me this is one of those silly tree-hugging protests! Elisabeth, I _forbid_ you to go to those ridiculous rallies! Ever since you quit your job, you've been hanging around with hippies who fill your head with ludicrous nonsense. Elisabeth... I want you to get your act together. You've come too far to throw away your whole career, your whole LIFE, for something so insanely absurd."

_Here it is_, Betsy thought. _Mum's inevitable lecture. God give me strength!_

"Mother, this isn't crazy or ludicrous nonsense!" she interrupted before she could hear anymore. "We're _helping_ people here. We're working to save the environment. We have a social responsibility to this world and I refuse to just stand around and do nothing. And it _would_ help if daddy would stop using those poor animals in his..."

"You stop right there!" her mother practically yelled at her. "You do _not _talk about your father in that way. He is a renowned scientist and is respected worldwide for his contributions to science. Not to mention he is your father and has always supported you and loved you and put food on the table so you won't starve, so don't you start bringing up that mumbo-jumbo about the rats he uses in his laboratory! Young lady, I have had just about enough of you. You _will _come to the Gala next weekend. No excuses. You are _not_ going to Geneva to protest and get arrested. Do. You. Understand. ME?"

By now the blood in Betsy's veins was practically at boiling point. How dare her mother tell her how to live her life? How dare she tell her who to see and who not to see? How dare she try to change her morals and beliefs? She was a full-grown woman now and she didn't need to take any of this grief her mother was constantly giving her.

"Mum..."

"Elisabeth, do you understand me?" she repeated once more.

"Yes, mother," Betsy agreed in defeat, sighing at her own weakness. It was a pitiful display on her behalf but after all, but she knew better than to resist her mother when she was in this kind of mood. Besides, turning up to the gala was her responsibility to the Braddock family, and she knew how important it was to her father. How could she bear to let him down?

"Good," her mother continued, finally satisfied. "I will send Jeffrey to pick you up at the airport. I expect you to dress appropriately, and that is an order, young lady."

"Yes, Mother."

"Fine. Now, I have responsibilities to take care of because believe it or not, that is what _adults_ do. I suggest you take care of yours. Good-bye Elisabeth. I'll see you soon." And before Betsy could even say a proper good-bye to her undoubtedly infuriated mother, she had already hung up.

"UGH!" Betsy cried with frustration.

Even though it was less than a week away, she already knew that the Gala was going to be a big disaster.

-oOo-

Well, ain't this a lucky break? It's been less than a week and I've already proudly crossed off the top point on my List of Priorities. Truth is, I don't know whether to feel happy or suspicious. My luck's _never_ worked this good before. I just can't help thinking that there's gotta be some hidden catch somewhere. Oh well. Who's complaining? I'm now officially a marketing assistant. Now all I have to do is call the damned plumber. And hope a decent guy comes my way.

It's Tuesday, and I set out early for my first day at L&L. I'm determined that this time I'm going to make a good impression, no matter what. I stride into the building with all the confidence I can muster. The receptionist gives me directions to the marketing and advertisement department on the thirty-fifth floor. On the way up, everyone's friendly. Everyone smiles at me. I smile back. I even say a few hellos to people I don't know. Everyone and everything is just swell.

I begin to think that maybe there's no catch at all.

First thing's first – I need to talk to my boss. I wander the corridors of the thirty-fifth floor, already utterly lost. That's when things start to look a little less rosy. Okay, no big deal. All I have to do is ask someone directions. I turn a corner and find myself in front of what seems to be an office. So I knock and open the door, and what do you think I find? A couple making out up against a filing cabinet. The woman squeals when she sees me and pushes the man away, attempting to redo the top buttons of her blouse before I notice. Oops.

"Oh, uh...Ah'm so sorry, Ah didn't..." I mutter, thoroughly embarrassed – until I see who the Casanova happens to be.

Remy LeBeau.

As soon as he recognizes me he shoots me that dazzling smile, looking for all the world as if nothing's happened at all – despite the fact that his shirt's half undone.

"Why, hello, cherie," he grins. "You come t' join us?"

I glower heavily at him. The arrogance of this man is enough to make me want to throw up! So why're my cheeks burning already?

"Ah think Ah'd rather kiss a snake, thanks very much," I state with as much venom as I can.

He turns and faces me, seeming to have all but forgotten about his dark-haired bimbo.

"You got y'self a swamp snake right here, p'tit," he replies, spreading his arms in invitation, showing off his amazing pecs and reminding me just how incredibly hot he is. Goddammit Rogue! Get a grip on yourself!

"Sorry, but a ménage-a-trois just ain't mah thing," I retort icily. "Though maybe you an' your floozy should think about goin' and findin' yourselves a room b'fore someone else comes in an' catches yah with your pants down."

I slam the door shut in their faces before he can get another word in. Trust my luck to come face to face with that idiot Cajun on my first day here! And everything was going so well up until now. Dammit!

I wander down the next corridor, silently remonstrating myself for not having slammed the door shut the moment I'd walked in on them. Honestly, what had possessed me to hang around talking to that beastly man, torturing myself with his presence? And why the _hell_ am I still blushing? Anyone would think I hadn't seen a guy's pecs before. In fact, I'm so flustered by this latest encounter that as I turn a corner I end up colliding with a girl coming the opposite way, sending her papers fluttering to the floor in a whirlwind of white.

St-rike two, Roguey!

"Oh mah God, Ah'm so sorry!" I apologize as I bend down, trying to retrieve her notes. "Ah wasn't lookin' where Ah was goin'!"

The girl helps me pick up her papers with a small smile. "It's okay," she reassures me, "don't worry about it. I was just going to get these shredded anyway." She bundles the papers under one arm and stands up with me. She's a cute-looking girl, probably only a few years younger than me, with a fresh, freckled face and chestnut hair drawn back into a tight ponytail. "Say, is that for real or what?" she asks me. It takes me a second to realize she's talking about the white skunk stripe in my hair.

"What, this?" I blow one of the annoying locks out of my face. "Yeah, Ah know, kinda looks like a bad fashion statement, doesn't it. But it's for real. Had it ever since Ah was born."

"Are you kidding?" the girl giggles back. "It's awesome! Wish I had hair like that. But don't people stare at you? I'd feel really self-conscious."

"Trust me, you get used to the stares after a while," I smile. "And there are even some guys who like the novelty factor it brings," I add with a wink. The girl laughs a cute, bubbly laugh.

"Say, are you the new girl?" she asks me. "I don't think I've seen you round here before."

"Sure am," I reply. "Name's Anna Raven. Ah've just started today."

"Anna Raven? That's a real pretty name. I'm Katherine Pryde. But everyone calls me Kitty." She sticks out her hand towards me and I shake it.

"Hey, Kitty. Pleased to meet you."

She beams a dimpled smile at me.

"Hey, since it's your first day and all, if you need any help getting around or anything, please don't hesitate to ask me. I'm just a lowly filing clerk round here, but I know pretty much everything there is to know about L&L, so if you need any tips..."

"That'd be great, thanks," I nod. "Actually, there _is_ something Ah need a hand with. You don't happen to know where the boss's office is? Ah'm kinda lost."

"Well, that's easy enough," Kitty replies, shifting the papers under her other arm. "You're going the wrong way. Just go back down that corridor and it should be at the end of the passage."

"Thanks," I say.

"Hey, don't mention it. And don't worry – you'll do fine. The boss can be a bit...uh, full-on the first time you talk to him, but he's nice really. Now I've really gotta go shred these files. Catch you later, Anna."

"See ya."

Kitty leaves, passing me a wave before disappearing round a corner. I breathe in deeply, mentally steeling myself for the first meeting with my boss. Then I set off to meet the inevitable.

It turns out that the boss's room is right next to one where I'd caught that god-awful beast of a man making out with that girl. Durnit, why can't I stop thinking about that sleaze-bag? I knock on the door, trying to put all thoughts of him out of my mind.

"Come in," says a familiar voice.

I push the door open and when I see who's waiting inside, all I can do is stand there and hope my jaw doesn't hit the floor.

Who else should it be but one tall, dark, handsome and accented Cajun with gorgeous eyes?

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	5. Click, Clash

**Disclaimer: **Spice owns a Rogue and Gambit Salvador Larroca original. Sugah owns a 200 plus comic collection and X-rated Gambit pictures drawn courtesy of Jim Lee himself...actually, no she doesn't, but that's beside the point. The point is, we don't own these characters. Marvel does. (Apart from Carlos, who belongs to us when we need some 'fitness instruction'. Hah! XD)

**A/N: **Heh heh, from now on the hard-core Romyness is going to start increasing. ;) Much fun and sexiness guaranteed! ;) And as to the identity of Sugah... She is a goddess of Romy fanfiction and I guarantee most of you have read at least ONE story written by her... And if you haven't, shame on you! If she got $10 for every chapter she's written so far, she'd be exactly $800 richer. Show her the money!

Enjoy, and much love - Spice x

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(5) Click, Clash**

"Seems we meet yet again, Ms. Raven," Remy LeBeau grins at me from across his desk. I'm too stunned to make a reply, so he gestures to a chair. "Please, take a seat."

I do so, my mind careening between disdain and embarrassment. My luck's sure been taking me for a roller coaster ride these past few days. Why doesn't it surprise me that the guy who's my boss turns out to be none other than the sleazy slimeball I've insulted three times in just about as many days?

"And you don't need to apologize for the incident inside my secretary's office," he adds, still grinning infuriatingly. "I'd prefer it if we both forgot about that. I like to get along wit' all my workers – ain't efficient otherwise. What d'you say we start over fresh?"

"What does Monet think about you makin' time with the office bimbo behind her back?" I ask him instead – but he just laughs.

"Monet? Monet doesn't care who I see. Our relationship is strictly professional."

"Except on weekends and national holidays, Ah'm willin' t' bet," I retort sourly under my breath. Oops. Why the hell can't I just keep my mouth shut for once? This guy may be a complete ass, but it won't do to make an enemy of my boss on the first day. Lucky for me, he seems to find my comment rather amusing. He slouches back in his plush leather chair and appraises me with those deep, dark eyes of his. I try to maintain my glower. If only he wasn't so damned delicious... ...

"So," he begins, thankfully deciding to let my vitriolic remark drop, "you're now workin' in L&L's marketing and advertisement department. You know what dat means, of course." He grins complacently. "It means you're under me. Although dis Cajun gets de impression you like t' be on top at least 50 percent of de time." He passes me a suggestive leer, daring me to respond. I don't know why, but despite my anger at his under-the-belt comment, I feel my cheeks begin to grow hot.

"This could qualify as sexual harassment, you know that?" I point out as icily as I can.

"Not unless you want to sexually harass me back," he notes, leaning forward, his eyes roving over my face intently. "And the color on your cheeks right now tells me dat at least part of you does."

I clamp my mouth shut in order to refrain from shouting obscenities at him. He smiles smugly, knowing he's won this round. So he thinks I'm going to join his legion of floozies, does he? I'll show him alright!

After a moment he leans back in his chair again and steeples his fingers together.

"Can we be frank?" he asks, this time seriously.

"Ah don't think we've had much of a problem with frankness so far," I reply acidly. "'Part from that stunt you pulled back in the interview room."

"Touché." He grins again. Why won't the damned jerk just get angry with me already? I watch him light a cigarette while I wait for him to be 'frank'. After a minute or so he decides to come clean.

"You're a smart girl, Anna," he says at last, "and you're gutsy too – I respect dat. On top o' dat, you got a whole lot of integrity – ain't many girls like dat around now'days. Believe me, I know." He takes a drag. I sit silently, not quite sure what to say about this unexpected speech. So he continues. "De reason why I decided to hire you – apart from your obvious assets, of course –" (he gives me the once over and I get the impression the assets he's talking about _aren't_ the ones on my resume), "is dat you ain't afraid t' speak your mind. An' in dis department, dat's a very useful commodity to have." For once, he looks deadly serious. "Dat's why I'm puttin' you on my creative team."

Now _that_ surprises me.

"Your _creative_ team?" I repeat in astonishment.

"Is dere an echo in here?" he jokes. "_Yes_, on my creative team. A select group of my most talented employees. T'ink of it as bein'...one of my chosen ones."

"Chosen for what, exactly?" I can't resist but ask him. I don't know why, but I'm starting to enjoy the banter between us. And so is he, I can tell. Shit, Rogue what are you thinking? You know better than to play around with _this_ guy. All he sees you as is a two-bit floozy with a bad temper and an attitude. A conquest. Playing with him is like playing with fire. Rule number 3, gal: **Never, under any circumstances, flirt with the boss...**

"You get to do all de fun stuff, chere," he replies in answer to my question, taking my bait but not quite. "Advertisements, packaging, billboards, TV spots... You know de stuff I mean. C'mon, petit. You gonna tell me you ain't got de balls to give it a go?"

Hmm. Scratch that. _He's _the one who's baiting _me_.

"I don't think I'm really very creative," I mumble as an excuse. My attempt to draw a dog the other day was evidence enough of that.

"Non? So why you say you like dancin' and singin' and playin' guitar in your leisure time?" he asks. "Or maybe you lied about dat too?"

"Well, not technically..." I reply slowly.

"So den," he shrugs. "Why sit around an' talk about it? I'm ready t' take you on, if you _want_ t' be taken on, dat is." The corner of his mouth upturns. "You get an extra five thou the first year, and den after dat, an extra ten. Dat sound fair t' you?"

I gape at him. That much money? If he's baiting me then he's doing it at considerable expense to himself. He _has_ to be serious. How can I resist?

"Alright," I spit out quickly, before my mind has a chance to talk me out of it.

"Excellent," he exclaims. "I'll get my secretary t' send you all de details. In de meantime, I've asked Katherine Pryde t' give you an orientation. Den we'll meet back after lunch and discuss de latest project. Okay?"

"Okay," I nod. To tell the truth, I'm a bit flabbergasted. Just wait until the girls hear about this!

"Great. See you after lunch, den."

I get up to go, but before I can reach the door he stops me.

"Oh – one more t'ing."

I turn expectantly t' see him smiling that same slippery smile, his business-like demeanor totally vanished. "Would you prefer it if I called you Anna, or Rogue?" he asks.

This time I really do blush – with embarrassment. Jesus, he actually remembered my faux pas back at the interview!

"Rogue's the name mah friends call me," I reply, with as much coolness and dignity as I can. Yet again that sexy little smile crinkles his mouth.

"D'accord – Anna. Although, you want my opinion – Rogue's de name dat suits you better."

He winks suggestively. There's only one thing for it. I open the door and bolt before I end up swooning or something.

Despite the fact that my pulse rate is currently racing, I absolutely _refuse_ to fall for that slimy Cajun's charms. I'll show him this gal's got some brains, and not just tits and an ass. So Remy LeBeau may have a won _this_ battle. But Anna Raven is determined to win the war!

-oOo-

At that very moment, in a 19th century style mansion halfway across town, a recently-showered Emma Frost was barking out orders to her young and somewhat bewildered German housekeeper, dressed only in a blue towel which left little to the imagination.

"Didn't I _expressly_ tell you that it was the taupe Stella McCartney suit with the satin lining that I needed pressing? Kristin, this is unacceptable! I have an important meeting to keep tonight and I simply _must_ look my best. Not to mention, I want this place to be looking it's best for the interviews on Friday, and you haven't even dusted the hallway yet! Now I suggest you get this suit pressed, because I really am beginning to wonder what it is I'm paying you for!"

Kristin, who was by now used to her mistress' explosive temper, simply took the suit from Emma's hands and scurried off without another word. Once she'd gone, Emma let out an exasperated roar. She'd taken the morning off from work in order to get the house ready for the interviews with some prospective gardeners she was supposed to be seeing on Friday. But seeing the incompetence of her staff in general, she was beginning to wonder whether she shouldn't just replace her entire household and have done with it.

"Anything wrong, babe?" an accented male voice called from upstairs. Emma rolled her eyes. In the heat of her rage she'd completely forgotten about Carlos, her latest replacement in the boyfriend department since she'd dumped her 'significant other' last week. Whether Carlos was going to last much longer was another matter entirely.

"Carlos, do you think you could get out of my bed anytime soon?" she ranted as she climbed the stairs to the bedroom. "I have to be at work in two hours and I absolutely need to get myself ready."

"So get ready already," he replied lazily. "I'm kind of comfortable where I am."

Carlos was lying half-naked in bed, stretching out against the duvet. He happened to be Emma's young and gorgeous Spanish fitness instructor, but, she thought with irritation, he didn't have a single sensible thought inside that handsome, perfectly-formed head of his.

"You will get dressed and get out of here this instant!" she railed at him, the towel almost slipping off her in her rage. "My room is _my_ domain, and if I let you in here it means I can bloody well kick you out when I want to! I'm fed up Carlos! I am fed up with your total lack of regard for _my_ feelings!"

Carlos simply shrugged lazily. He probably hadn't even understood half of what she'd said.

"Hey, chill, _chiquita_. What's so wrong if I stay here while you change anyway? Carlos has seen you in your birthday suit before, or did you forget?"

He gave her a seductive smile, which in her present mood only served to make her angrier. She was just about to start yelling at him again when the doorbell went.

"Ugh, it's that damned postman!" Emma cried in exasperation. "Late again, as usual. I really must remember to complain to the postal services about it!"

**Ding dong**

"Kristin!" Emma hollered down the stairs. "Kristin, where are you! There's somebody at the door!"

But Kristin, it seemed, had conveniently disappeared, and the doorbell just wouldn't stop ringing. Emma leveled a sharp glance in Carlos' direction, but he merely shrugged his shoulders again, rolled over, and went back to sleep. A now extremely incensed Emma was left to run downstairs to open her own front door.

"I want you out of my room within the next ten minutes, and that's an order, mister!" she shouted back over her shoulder at her fitness instructor, who simply ignored her. By the time she had reached the door she was literally foaming at the mouth and was utterly oblivious to the fact that she was practically half-naked.

"What?" she snapped, throwing the door open to find herself faced with, not the postman, but a very much astonished and speechless young man. Emma glowered menacingly at this unexpected visitor with all the ferocity of a lion. She'd been caught in full-flow and was not in the mood to be trifled with.

"Well, what?" she spat out impatiently. "I haven't got all day, you know!"

"I, uh..." the young man was evidently trying to formulate a sentence, but was being distracted by her gratuitous display of perfect female flesh. "I, uh, was coming for the, uh, gardening job and I, uh..."

Emma suddenly realized how idiotic she must look, standing there talking to a complete stranger wearing only a towel and her big, fluffy slippers. But she was still so cross that she couldn't really give a damn.

"I'm not holding interviews for the gardening job until Friday," she told him curtly, while simultaneously looking him over. She had to admit that he didn't look like the gardening type at all. Her previous gardener had been a boring and nondescript man in his sixties, and this guy didn't look much older than twenty-four. On closer inspection, she had to admit that he was rather good-looking – he had a great physique, thick brown hair gelled into a spiky look, and beautiful, icy blue eyes. He was dressed kind of weird for the winter – the guy was actually wearing shorts and a sleeveless top that showed off a pair of strong, well-muscled arms. Emma caught herself mid-ogle. For the first time since she could remember, she started to blush.

And she hadn't damn well blushed since seventh grade!

"You were supposed to call and make an appointment through my secretary," she continued, involuntarily taking a little of the edge out of her voice. Dammit! Why hadn't she put on her bathrobe before she'd opened the door?

"I did call," this fine brunette specimen replied, still staring at her with a mixture of awe and embarrassment. "Your secretary told me you would be home this morning and I thought..."

It suddenly dawned on her that Jubilee must've mistakenly sent him for an interview today rather than Friday. Again she had to consciously hold her rage in check. _I'm surrounded by imbeciles!_ she thought to herself in irritation.

"I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, inwardly feeling disconcerted at her reaction to this unassuming young man. "My secretary must have gotten the days mixed up." She looked down at herself and suddenly the color rose to her cheeks again. "And I, uh, apologize for my current state of undress. My housekeeper was supposed to answer the door and I'd just gotten out of the shower and..." Why on earth was she explaining herself? Emma Grace Frost never made explanations to _anybody_!

"Oh, it's no problem," the brunette interrupted with a small laugh that she had to admit she found rather attractive – dorky though it was. "I mean, I'm not one to complain if a beautiful woman opens the door and she's just wearing...well, you know what I mean... And you _are_ beautiful, by the way, and I don't mean to be disrespectful or anything, but I, uh..." He trailed off, scratched his head and blushed as well. "I'm not making an ounce of sense, am I?" he finally finished with a comical expression on his face.

For some reason, Emma found herself smiling. Usually, she had an entire repertoire of two kinds of smiles – smug, and scary. But now she found herself beaming with a smile that reached to her eyes. This guy was plainly an idiot – but he amused her. He made her want to laugh. And somehow, his inept admission that he found her attractive had pleased her. She hadn't smiled like _this_ since sixth grade. What the hell was up with that?

"No," she replied at last, trying to fight her smile and not entirely succeeding. "In fact, you're making a complete and utter fool of yourself. But I guess that makes two of us."

At her lame comment he beamed that contagious grin right back at her. "I guess it does," he agreed.

They laughed a little, a weak kind of laughter, as though they were suddenly confused as well as embarrassed. Inwardly, Emma's head was screaming at her to shut the door and end this humiliating experience immediately. But there was another small part of her that wanted to stay and talk to this stranger, and she didn't know why. He just made her feel good. He just made her feel...happy.

"Emma?" Carlos' plaintive whine sounded from upstairs, breaking the awkward moment. "Babes? Why you not shut the door, huh? Carlos is getting cold up here!"

If Emma had blushed before, she found her cheeks literally flaming now. Looking back at the brunette, she saw there was a somewhat crestfallen look on his face as her attached status suddenly became apparent. A sudden desperation welled up in her, but it was a feeling so uncharacteristic to her nature that she held it in check. What on earth had gotten into her?

"Uh, I should be going," he suddenly blurted out, looking away awkwardly.

"Yes," she rejoined quickly. "Come back on Friday," she added without thinking, then banged the door shut in his face. It was the only action she felt she could redeem herself with, since she'd been acting like a total dork the moment she'd laid eyes on him. But even as she slammed the door to she felt a strange feeling inside her – a kind of weird afterglow.

_Dammit, Emma,_ she thought,_ what's gotten into you! The guy was evidently a moron!_

Shaking her head violently and setting aside the disconcerting thoughts, it took her a whole two seconds to get her cynicism back

"Carlos!" she raged as she climbed the stairs once more. "You've got five minutes before I whip you out of that room myself!"

-xXx-

"Dammit, Drake, you've really blown it now," the young brunette muttered to himself as he cycled quickly away from Emma's mansion. "Why can't you just keep that big mouth of yours zipped for once?"

The past week hadn't been the best in Bobby Drake's life. Last Wednesday he'd been fired from his job serving rude and foul-mouthed customers at the local Burger King, and only yesterday morning he'd received a D grade in his dissertation on interglacial periods. To top it all off, his bike had been stolen over the weekend and he'd had to shell out another $70 to buy a new one that could stand the rigors of everyday travel through New York City. Before that he'd been coping just fine driving round the banged-up Saab his dad had bequeathed to him, but six months ago that'd finally died on him in a cloud of billowing smoke and he'd been too broke to afford a new set of wheels.

Yes, recent life had certainly been depressing for him, and now it had just become even worse.

"Face it, Drake, you're a moron," he continued to remonstrate himself under his breath as he turned onto the main road. "That lady is _never_ gonna hire you now. Might as well just give up on ever being employed, ever again. You suck. Your whole life sucks. How're you ever gonna pay to stay in grad school now?"

He sighed as he thought about his latest humiliating blunder. For some reason, whenever he was faced with a beautiful woman, he'd suddenly get tongue-tied and start spouting utter garbage. Yup – he was certainly a failure in the woman department as well. It wasn't that the girls didn't like him or anything. It was simply that they didn't consider him good boyfriend material – either he was playing the role of the good friend that everyone came to, or he was being the class clown. Why was it that all his friends were able to score and he wasn't? Take that cute, skunk-striped girl he'd met at the Super-Low-Val-U Mart last week. He hadn't even spoken three sentences to her before she'd been running.

And now he'd just met the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on, and he'd simply gone even more out of his way to make a total idiot of himself. Nope – there wasn't any point in going back to the Frost mansion. As if a sophisticated and beautiful woman like that was going to employ a screwed up nerd of a failure like him.

_But goddammit, she sure was hot...,_ Bobby thought to himself, thinking back wistfully on that gorgeous blonde with the beautiful cornflower blue eyes... Not to mention her other assets... ...

Hm. Maybe he'd go back for the interview after all.

So lost was Bobby in his reverie that he barely even noticed the massive Jaguar that was honking him from behind. As the sleek car raced to take over him, he was practically driven off the road and into a drain. Bobby skidded to a stop and shook his fist at the juggernaut now speeding ahead of him.

"Fucking road hog!" he yelled, but the car had already slipped round the corner.

Yup, it looked like it was turning out to be yet another promising day in the life of Bobby Drake.

-oOo-

"Damned cyclists," Warren Worthington muttered to himself as he overtook the daydreaming young man who'd been taking up most of the lane. "Someone should ban them from this city, period."

Warren wasn't having a particularly good day either. That morning his lawyer had received a rather threatening letter from the lawyer of a certain Ms. Emma Frost. So the woman wanted to play rough, did she? Warren shook his head in disbelieving amusement. He knew how much Emma wanted the merger between their two companies. It was something he too wanted, but her behavior was really starting to rub him up the wrong way, and he'd had just about enough of her arrogance. Well, if that was the way she wanted to play things, he'd give back as good as he got. There was no way in hell he was going to be intimidated by that conceited and, he suspected, silicone-enhanced woman!

As he turned the corner his cell phone started to go off. Flipping it open, he held it to his ear while simultaneously trying to dodge another irresponsible and seemingly drunk cyclist.

"Hello? Warren Worthington speaking."

"Sir," the sedate voice of his Asian secretary came through. "Is this a bad time?"

"Of course not, Shan," he replied lightly. "I'm just heading back from brunch with a client. What is it?"

"I've just had a phone call from Professor Braddock's secretary," Shan Coy Manh replied in her usual business-like manner. "She said he hasn't received any confirmation concerning the invitation you received to the Annual Braddock Foundation Gala this weekend. He'd like to know whether you're still planning to attend."

"Of course I'm attending," Warren returned, a little puzzled. He'd asked his fill-in secretary to call Professor Braddock two weeks ago and accept the invitation to the gala – but then again, the girl had been rather useless, feeling it was more necessary to call her boyfriend and paint her nails than do the work she was being paid for. "Shan, Worthington Incorporated is sponsoring the professor's latest cancer research," he added. "His most recent findings happen to be of worldwide importance. I think it'd be showing bad face if I didn't turn up. Call him back now and tell him I'll most definitely be going."

"I would, sir," Shan replied slowly. "But it seems you've been double-booked this Friday. That's why I had to call you."

Warren groaned. Trust him to get an incompetent imbecile to take Shan's place while she was away on sabbatical.

"What's supposed to be on for Friday then?" he asked.

"A meeting with Emma Frost of Frost Industries," Shan reported. "It's been marked as top-priority. Do you want me to cancel?"

Ah, so he'd been double-booked to meet with Emma that evening, had he? A small smile spread on Warren's lips. A plan was slowly starting to formulate itself in his head. He now knew exactly how to make sure Emma got a spoonful of her own ill-tasting medicine.

"No," he decided at last. "Don't cancel."

"Sir?"

"I'll call my lawyer and arrange for her to go instead as my representative," Warren explained.

"Do you want me to inform Ms. Frost?" Shan inquired.

"No. You just phone Professor Braddock and let him know I'll be at the gala this weekend. And please apologize to him for the delay in accepting his invitation. Tell him I had trouble with my fill-in secretary. Oh, and don't forget to send my regards to his family." He thought that was only fitting, since Professor Braddock and his father had once been childhood friends.

"Will do, sir," Shan confirmed, and hung up.

Warren snapped his cell phone shut and grinned smugly to himself. Come this weekend, Emma Frost was going to have a very nasty surprise in store for her. It really was high time someone took that unbearable woman down a peg or two, and Warren Worthington was more than happy to be the person to do job.

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	6. Blessings in Disguise

**Disclaimer: **There are several universal truths in this world that we all know exist to the core of our being, so much so that we don't need them to be proved to us. Such as the more we learn, the less we know; that we're _always_ incompatible with our own starsign; that Johnny Depp has a fit ass; and that Rogue and Gambit belong together. Not to mention, of course, that we do not - and never will - own the following characters in any way, shape or form. Because Marvel do. Dammit.

**A/N:** Thanks to all those who've reviewed so far - your comments are much appreciated - we love you all! If there's any character you'd like to see popping up, let us know and we'll see what we can do! Enjoy the latest installment - Spice x

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(6) Blessings in Disguise**

Ugh.

I wake up on Friday morning to find I've been drooling all over my pillow. Don't you just hate it when that happens? I sit up groaning and wipe my mouth. I just can't shake the feeling that I've been dreaming about kissing that Cajun swamp rat. It might be easier to forget if only for the fact that it was the best dream I've had in ages. I was in a sexy red nightgown, and he was dressed in this debonair suit... And the way he took me in his arms and ravished me and...

Stop!

It's only a dream! I can't keep torturing myself like this, considering the fact that I can't even stand the guy! But then, why are my cheeks already burning red, and how come he manages to haunt my dreams even though I have no control over my subconscious whatsoever?

Great – now not only is my body betraying me, but my mind is as well. Face it, Roguey – Remy LeBeau is bad news. So stop thinking about him already!

I take a quick shower, then go and check my mail. While I'm waiting for the coffee machine, I leaf through the pile of envelopes. Bills; bills; bills; a free catalogue from a bridal company. What the hell is that doing in there? Must've been from when I ordered that dress to wear to Jean's wedding. Damned junk mail! I chuck it in the trashcan. The last thing I want is to be reminded of weddings.

The rest of my mail is all fairly regular stuff, until I get to the bottom of the pile. A long, thin, blue envelope. Hmm. Never seen one of these before. I pick it up while I'm pouring my coffee and read the official stamp on the front. 'CALDECOTT COUNTY GENERAL HOSPITAL', it says. As soon as I read it, I freeze. _Caldecott County General Hospital. _What..._Why_...? After all this time, for what possible reason could they want to contact me now? And how did they find out my new address? Unless... ...

Suddenly my throat's burning and my heart's beating a mile a minute. I can't open it, I just can't. I slip it back at the bottom of the pile of bills, then busy myself getting some breakfast ready. But once I have the bowl of cereal in front of me, I find I don't have the appetite to eat a thing. I stare at the pile of letters. _Come on, Rogue,_ I think, _you're not suddenly turnin' chicken now, are you? You always knew you couldn't run away from your past. Just open the darn thing already!_

No – I can't do it. The thought of it leaves me feeling sick to the stomach. Instead I grab my coat, purse and keys and run out, leaving my bowl of cereal untouched.

All of a sudden, facing L&L and another day of Remy LeBeau seems a whole lot more appealing.

-oOo-

It just wouldn't fit.

No matter how she folded it, rolled it, or sat on it, that accursed purple velvet Armani coat just refused to fit into her suitcase. Betsy sighed in exasperation and promptly spilled out the contents of her suitcase onto the floor. Better to start again from scratch than to crease up the expensive coat anymore than she had already. And really, she was only going to be staying in the UK for the weekend. She had enough clothes here to clothe an entire community in Ethiopia or something. _Neal would definitely not approve_, she told herself sternly. _This time round you're going to break the mould and travel lightly! Think economical, Elisabeth, think economical._

Just as she'd managed to convince herself that she didn't need the purple coat after all, the doorbell rang. She knew instinctively who it was.

Neal.

Her heartbeat sped up to a mile a minute, her nerves collapsing completely. Here she was, packing to leave for that very evening, yet she still hadn't even told her boyfriend about the change of plans.

It really wasn't her fault though. Neal had had some sort of conference to go to in Montreal, and she hadn't had the chance to tell him. Sure, she _could_ have called him, but that would have been so impersonal.

The doorbell rang again, and she snapped out of her internal reasoning. Forcing her feet to finally walk over to the door, she inhaled deeply and opened the door.

"Hey honey," he greeted her brightly, with a smile to boot.

"Hi, luv," she greeted half-heartedly.

"What's wrong?" he questioned as he stepped into her apartment.

"Oh...nothing," she lied and closed the door. When she turned around, he pulled her into his arms for a deep kiss. When they finally pulled away, he smiled at her and said, "I've been missing that, darling. So, are you all set to go?"

"Yeah...I'm all set to go," she answered awkwardly, but at least she was telling the truth. She just didn't mention that it was Britain she was all set to go to.

"Good. I hope you're packing light. We're only going to be there for three days and I know how you have a habit of over-packing," he stated with a hint of condescension.

"Actually..." she began sheepishly, "here's the thing, Neal. Please don't be mad."

"Don't be mad with what?" he asked suspiciously, a look of disapproval already glazing over his face.

"Well... I have this dinner with my family and I can't go to Geneva," Betsy finally spat out all in one breath.

"_What_?" Neal burst out in shock and exasperation, "Betsy, why didn't you tell me sooner? How could you _not_ have told me? Your plane ticket isn't refundable, and I've booked a hotel for us and everything! I'm going to have to tell everyone else that you're not going, and now we're going to have shuffle people around just to fit everything round _your_ plans!" He paused, glaring at her and giving a cry of frustration. "This is_ so_ irresponsible of you, Betsy. Why didn't you just tell me the truth – that you don't give a damn about Geneva at all!"

Betsy blinked, unable to believe what he was accusing her of.

"Neal, I'm _sorry_," she apologized desperately, her guilt soaring. "I just utterly forgot that this weekend is my father's Annual Braddock Foundation Gala and my entire family's expecting me there. You _know_ I'd rather be with you than with them but I _can't_ miss this event. It's the only thing they ever ask of me, and I just can't let them down." She paused, seeing how angry he still looked. "Look, Neal, I'm truly sorry. But the gala's really for a good cause too, you know. It's to help fund my father's cancer research. And as for the plane ticket – look, I'll pay for it, it won't be a problem."

"This isn't about the price of the plane ticket!" Neal exploded, his eyes flashing. "The point is that you obviously don't care about our cause, Betsy. Why do you even pretend you _do_? Let's face it – you've been brought up in a world of egotistical, self-centered values, and a leopard never changes its spots! I was stupid to think you'd ever change!"

That was the last straw for Betsy, who was now on the verge of tears. To hear him accusing her of being selfish when she was thinking only of her family hurt her to the core. Looking into his eyes, she couldn't even see a hint of the passionate, inspirational man she had fallen for at that charity event eight months before. All she saw was a patronizing man who would never be satisfied with the way she chose to live her life. And it was _her _life, goddammit! Neither him nor her mother had any right to tell her what to do!

"I _do_ care, Neal!" she finally raged at him despite her despair. "Just because I can't make it to _one_ event does not mean that I've thrown all my morals and beliefs out the window! So stop accusing me of otherwise! As for my family, it's my duty to be there for them whether you or even I, for that matter, like it or not! I thought you could at least try to understand, but if you can't, please just leave because this is one responsibility I'm determined to uphold." She finished, desperately fighting tears back. She was determined that he wouldn't see her cry.

"Well, I won't keep you then," he replied between clenched teeth, and promptly stormed out the apartment.

Betsy slammed the door shut behind him and let out a frustrated cry.

The weekend was looking grimmer and grimmer as the minutes went by, and she had an inkling that it was only going to get worse.

-xXx-

"This is hopeless. I just don't know which one to choose. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother getting out of bed in the mornings."

Yes – it was a familiar situation for everyone's favorite rich bitch. Practically every morning Emma Frost would get out of bed and ask herself the same old question – which one should she choose? One day it'd be either the Gucci red power suit or the magnolia white Armani one. The next day it'd be a toss up between a handbag by Coco Chanel or Yves St. Laurant. Really, the amount of trouble she had getting dressed in the mornings was practically tantamount to a day's worth of work. Who knew that making decisions could be so stressful? And that wasn't even taking into account the executive ones she made at Frost Industries. And the way things were going now, Emma wondered whether she shouldn't just employ someone to make her decisions for her. If she did then she'd have at least half her day back.

Currently though, it wasn't clothes or shoes or perfume or purses that were bothering her. Right now she was sitting in front of a pile of nondescript resumes and had just interviewed half a dozen nondescript men. It amazed and irritated her that all the gardeners currently looking for employment in New York appeared to be clones of one another.

"I mean, does _every_ one of them have to be in the 55-65 age bracket?" she mumbled to herself, as she flipped a page over. "I suppose it doesn't matter who I hire. They're all the same anyway."

She was about to resort to eenie-meenie-miney-mo tactics when someone knocked on the door of her lounge.

"What is it?" she snapped after tutting in frustration.

A sheepish Kristin opened the door and timidly popped her head round the corner.

"Ms. Frost, there's a man to see you about the gardening job," she announced. Emma scowled.

"Oh, send him away. I've seen enough boring men today to last me a lifetime!"

"But Ms. Frost, he told me he had an appointment to see you ten minutes ago," the German housekeeper insisted.

"Kristin, are you really as deaf as you appear to be?" Emma retorted rudely, "I don't want to see him! I don't want to see another one of these awful people! Not to mention he's ten minutes late for his interview, which hardly recommends him to me. In fact, when you send him out, tell him if he really _does_ want a job he'd better get his act together and try turning up to his interviews on time for a change."

Kristin bobbed her head meekly.

"Alright, I'll tell the young man."

She was just about to leave when Emma stopped her after a split second of reflection.

"Wait a minute."

Kristin turned. "Yes?"

"Did you just say _young man_?"

"Uh...yes, ma'am."

Emma and began rifling through the pile of resumes in front of her. Near the bottom she found one that seemed to have escaped her notice. 'Robert Drake' it read on the front. Aged twenty-four years.

"Send him in," Emma ordered brusquely. Kristin nodded again and left. A minute later there was a knock at the door, and in came a familiar young brunette, still dressed as if he'd been spending a day at the beach. Emma did a double-take as he strolled in, looking at his surroundings in awe. In the hectic rush of the past seventy-two hours, she'd completely forgotten about the strange guy who'd turned up on her doorstep the other morning.

"_You_?" she couldn't help but spit out. She suddenly wished Kristin _had_ sent him away. Remembering the god-awful embarrassment she'd made of herself in front of him the other day, she found herself feeling so flustered she could barely get any words out. Her outburst did nothing to help his already overloaded nerves as he saw her obvious surprise at his appearance.

"Yeah," he grinned awkwardly, "I guess it is me." As soon as he said it, he seemed to realize how stupid the introduction had sounded. He laughed nervously, and looked around. "Wow," he commented awkwardly, stopping in the middle of the room and gawking at her collection of diamond-ware in a display case by the mantelpiece. "You sure have a beautiful house, ma'am."

For a few seconds all Emma could do was sit and stare at the guy. She found her cheeks reddening as she recalled the fact that this was one of the few guys to have ever seen her practically in the buff. Not to mention her fluffy blue slippers! If there was one thing she would gladly have done at that moment, it would have been to hide her face in shame. But Emma was never one to shy away from a challenge and so she cleared her throat and tried to regain her composure.

"Robert Drake, I presume," she said, trying to make her voice as cold and imposing as it usually was, but it came out kind of shaky. The brunette laughed self-consciously again.

"Oh yeah, Robert. Well, yeah, that's my name, but nobody really calls me that nowadays, not since I was about five anyhow... Except for my mom that is, when she gets mad with me... But my mates and my professors and everyone, they all call me Bobby... Or the Iceman sometimes, cos, you know, I like the cold and I'm kinda like the only guy who can go round in winter with just a Tee and some shorts on, y'know..." He paused when he saw the confused look on Emma's face, then took a deep breath. "Just call me Bobby," he finished.

Emma gave him a dazed look. This guy talked a mile a minute!

"Fine. Bobby. Won't you take a seat?"

He sank into one of her plush leather couches gratefully as she glanced quickly over his resume.

"So," she began after a moment, trying to sound as professional as she could, "you're in grad school. What is it you're studying?"

"Environmental Science," he replied. "I'm in my final year."

"And what made you decide to take a gardening job of all things?" she questioned rather incredulously.

"Uh, well..." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, "I got fired from my job in Burger King last week and I really need the money to get me through this last year of grad school, so I figured I'd give this a shot." He shrugged. "Hey, this pays better than getting burnt on a daily basis by the oil the deep fryer spits out at me. Goddamn machine hated my guts," he muttered as an afterthought.

Emma desperately tried to straighten out the smile that was beginning to form on her face.

"And have you had any previous experience gardening?" she asked quickly.

"Not unless digging out the weeds in the backyard counts," he half-laughed. "It was mom's way of punishing me when I was in my teens. But hey! I can tell you all you need to know about the effect an interglacial period would have on your crocuses in the spring..."

"Uh, that won't be necessary," Emma cut in briskly, before he could start babbling on about...whatever he was talking about. "All I need right now is someone to get all the dead leaves out of my ponds before all my koi die on me."

"Koi?" Bobby repeated, nonplussed.

"Fish," she replied dryly. "Very expensive fish."

"Oh." Bobby put on a beaming smile. "Well, that's no problem. Dead leaves? I can handle dead leaves. And weeds too. Yup. And I noticed the paving on your driveway is starting to come loose...You know, I can fix that too. Had to sort out my parent's drive last Christmas when..." He halted abruptly as he saw her bewildered look. "Oh God, I'm going on again, aren't I?" he said, blushing. "Look, I'm really sorry, it's just that when I get really nervous I start talking and talking and I can't stop..."

"Nervous?" Emma cut in before he could start again. "Why on earth should you be nervous?" After all, _she'd _never been nervous in her entire life.

"Well, I dunno," he began, scratching his head again, "I just thought... that after what happened on Tuesday and all that... Well, _you_ know what happened... And I saw you there wearing just this towel and I thought... Well, to be honest, I don't even know why I came here anyway, I mean, you obviously think I'm an idiot – what beautiful and intelligent woman _wouldn't_? I guess I just thought that if I came back here for the interview that..." He trailed off, looking bemused. "Well, I guess I don't know _what_ I thought."

By now Emma could barely contain herself, let alone stop the smile from lighting her face. That was the first time anyone had called her beautiful and intelligent to her face. Apart from daddy, but he didn't count because... well, because daddies just didn't.

"Do you talk this much when you're _not_ nervous?" she asked him outright. He sneaked a look at her, and seeing her expression was less severe, he smiled a genuine smile.

"Not _this_ much," he confessed. "But still too much for my own good."

Emma found a laugh threatening to escape her lips. She let it out. Kind of. It came out sounding a bit like a bark. _Jesus H. Christ!,_ she thought in sudden realization. _I'm going to have to work on that laugh!_

"Really, Mr. Drake," she assured him, still feeling uncomfortable at the moronic, simpering feeling he gave her, "there's no need to be shy." She paused and half-smiled. "Considering I made just as much of a fool of myself as you did, I think we're pretty much even now. Now I'd much prefer it if we both forgot about it and started again like we'd never met one another until today. Now," she picked up his resume with a business-like air, but the smile was still on her face, "everything here looks just fine. Since it's the winter, I won't be needing a gardener every day of the week anyhow. I suppose you'll need as much time as possible to study, right? For the time being, how about we try to fix your hours around your schedule?"

Bobby stared at her from wide eyes.

"Does that mean what I think it means?!"

"Well, I don't believe I know what's going round that insane head of yours right now," Emma quipped, standing up with that stupid grin still plastered onto her face. _What the hell was she doing?!_ "But if you're thinking that I'm hiring you, then yes, you'd be right."

She didn't think it was possible that his smile could get any wider, but it did. In a second he too was up on his feet and vigorously shaking her hand.

"Ms. Frost, I don't know what to say! This is just great! How am I ever going to thank you?"

"Right now, by keeping my fish alive, Mr. Drake," she replied, looking down at her hand, which he was still shaking at break-neck speed. "And perhaps by letting my hand go some time today?"

He stopped shaking. "It's a deal, ma'am!" he grinned. "But on one condition."

"What's that?" she asked curiously, wondering how _anyone_ had the nerve to bargain with her.

"Please...just call me Bobby."

He winked, knowing he'd caught her slightly off guard.

"Alright – Bobby, we'll play things your way. But I'll only call you Bobby if you stop calling me Ms. Frost." She smiled slyly at him. "From now on, call me Emma."

-oOo-

I sit at my desk, absent-mindedly doodling across my assignment papers with a pen. My first big assignment from Mr. LeBeau, and I haven't a single shred of anything intelligent to show for it. Except for the flower patterns I'm currently scribbling onto my briefing notes. I'm supposed to be coming up with some new ideas for L&L's new perfume advertising campaign. I'd spent the entire previous night wracking my brains to think of _something_ impressive, but kept on getting distracted by the _Sex & The City Night _on cable TV. Twelve hours straight of sex-crazed, man-eating 30-somethings seemed infinitely preferable to Mr. LeBeau's boring marketing project.

Watching the TV, I wondered whether this was the way my life was going to turn out. A thirty-year-old almost-has-been, casually going through a string of men and never finding 'Mr. Right'. There was a time life had seemed so much simpler, when the question of 'Mr. Right' seemed to have been answered.

Hah! So much for that.

I pause to see my doodles have changed from flowers into a waterfall-like cascade of petals that blot out most of the briefing notes my 'boss' had given me. Great. Now I don't even know what I'm supposed to be doing anymore. Oh well, the presentation's still four hours away. I still have time to make up for the past three days of unproductiveness, right?

I shuffle through the various photos of Ororo Munroe, the face of the new campaign. She looks absolutely gorgeous; not to mention, she looks like a woman who has her life sorted – unlike me. Shit, Rogue, get a grip! I know what's the matter with me – I'm still brooding over the letter I got this morning.

Just when I think I've finally got an idea for the new campaign, Kitty pops her head round my cubicle.

"Hey Anna! Whatcha doin'?"

"Hey Kitty. Nothin' much really. Just bustin' mah brain over this new ad campaign." I slap the Ororo Munroe photos back onto my desk and let out a heavy sigh.

"Really? That's exactly what I was just going to talk to you about," the younger girl says. I look up at her, hearing the excitement running through her voice. Her face is literally beaming.

"What's up?" I ask her curiously.

"Ohmigod, Anna, it's _so_ exciting!" Kitty sits on the edge of my desk, grinning as she launches into her tale. "Just now I was talking to Lila Cheney – you know, Mr. LeBeau's secretary? And she told me – get this!" She leans in close to me, lowing her voice for dramatic effect, "Ororo Munroe has _just walked into the building!_ _For a meeting with Mr. LeBeau_!"

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow and cynically feign surprise. "Well Ah'm sure he'll have no end of fun with her."

"C'mon, Anna, aren't you excited?" Kitty persists. "Dammit, girl, you're no fun! She's like the most famous supermodel _in the world_, and she's right here _in the same building_! Lila says she's coming up _right now_!"

"Pfft," I retort rudely. "Well, Ah'm sure Miss. Lila will be happy t' tell you all the juicy details. Although Ah expect she'll be sufferin' a bit of the green-eyed monster once she sees her precious Mr. LeBeau lickin' supermodel butt." I pause and shoot a curious glance at Kitty. "What is it with Mr. I'm-God's-gift-to-women anyway?"

"What? You mean Mr. LeBeau?" Kitty asks.

"Uh-huh. Ah'm surprised you ain't on first-name terms with him, sugah, the way he encourages 'being on good terms with his staff' and all."

Kitty chuckles.

"I take it he's already made a bad impression on you," she remarks wryly.

"You think? The guy's a creep, sugah, and Ah ain't _that_ desperate for a man. Besides," I add, pouting, "Ah'm sure he has more than enough gals round here to make a 'good impression' on. Can't think why he'd be bothered chasin' after me."

"You're kidding me, right?" Kitty stares at me. "You must be the _only_ girl in this place who _doesn't_ have a thing about Mr. LeBeau! It's kinda sick really. All he has to do is step into the room and the next moment all the ladies are on the floor. Just about everyone I know would kill to get their hands on a piece of that man!"

"And you?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

"Me?" She laughs. "Okay, I'll admit, when I first came here, I was hot for him. But _everyone_ is. It's like some crazy rite of passage here. It died down after a week or two. Besides, I only have eyes for _one_ man in this place."

She pauses, a wistful look suddenly glazing her eyes. Ah hah! No doubt about it, from the look on her face, the gal's in love.

"Oh c'mon, Kitty, yah can't just stop there!" I persist. "Y' _have_ t' tell me who he is now!"

She breaks out of her reverie and lowers her voice again.

"His name's Peter Rasputin. He's on Mr. LeBeau's creative team, same as you. He's so smart and talented and my God, you should see his paintings! They're absolutely the most beautiful, gorgeous things you'll ever see!"

Yeah, I know the guy. Remy introduced me to him along with the rest of the creative team the first day I arrived here. Tallest guy I ever saw, with thick black hair, bright blue eyes and a real body-builder's frame. Quiet, kind and shy, the sort of guy you know you can rely on and take home to your mother. Not to mention, he sure was some looker. I just got the feeling he just wasn't my type. Plus, I didn't particularly want to go snatching other girl's love interests either.

"Ah know the guy," I nod, smiling. "You got taste, sugah. Looks like you beat me t' the chase."

"Anna!" she exclaims, shocked.

"Hey," I grin at her slyly, "Ah'm just kiddin'. But if Ah _was_ desperately lookin' for a man, he'd definitely be near the top of mah list."

Kitty laughs. "I suppose I should be glad you're not desperate for a man then. He's mine!" She pauses, her eyes glinting at me mischievously. "But just for the record, and just to satisfy my curiosity – where exactly would Mr. LeBeau be on your list?"

"Well," I playfully pretend to think about it, "he _does_ have an accent, which is a definite pro. And gorgeous eyes, which is another point in his favor. And my friends and Ah agree that I definitely have to stop the current trend of dating blue-eyed, blond-haired prigs, and he definitely doesn't fit into any of those categories. However," I continue impishly, "he also happens t' be the most irritatin', dirty, cocky, perverted and arrogant Cajun swamp snake Ah ever saw, and in that case –"

"In that case, it sounds like he should be goin' at de bottom of your list, chere," that annoyingly sexy Cajun drawl sounds from the doorway of my cube. "Unless, o' course, you have a thing about dirty, cocky and arrogant perverts, in which case, he should be at de top."

_Shit!_

Kitty turns round guiltily, although I don't really know what she has to feel guilty about. I still sit there, my face burning, not daring to turn. Roguey, when the hell will you stop making an ass of yourself in front of this guy?? Rule number 4: – **Never talk about someone unless you know they're not there listening to you.**

Well, one thing I'm not, and that's the shy and retiring type. I finally turn around slowly to brave the inevitable. Remy's leaning against the frame, that insolent grin curling his lips. Usually, every inch of my being would be rebelling against this man. I'd be sticking up a big, imaginary middle finger in his direction. Heck, if I was in a _really_ bad mood, I'd be sticking a real finger up at him. So why is it that all I want to do right now is kick myself?

"Kitty," he addresses the girl next to me, "I want you to get some coffee and have it sent to de presentation room. We'll be needin' enough for eight."

Kitty seems to be stunned into silence because she says nothing and scuttles out quickly, leaving the two of us alone. Together. Again. Damn!

Once she's gone, Remy looks over me, obviously amused at the whole affair.

"One t'ing I gotta ask," he begins from his place in the entrance, "_do_ you have a thing 'bout dirty, cocky and arrogant perverts?"

"Even if Ah did – which Ah sure as hell don't – you'd_ still_ be bottom of mah list," I spit out vehemently. I don't like the way he makes me feel one little bit. That damnably handsome Cajun!

"Quoi?" He puts on an injured countenance. "Don't de fact dat I have de right accent and de right eye and hair color do anyt'ing t' recommend me t' you, p'tit?"

Oh God. My list of embarrassing moments involving Remy LeBeau has just about reached epic proportions. I'm beginning to wonder _just _how much of my conversation he actually heard.

"Even if you were the _last_ man on earth, Ah wouldn't touch you with a ten foot barge pole," I glower, standing up quickly to rearrange the papers on my desk while hoping he doesn't see how flustered I'm getting. I just wish he'd go away, but he simply laughs.

"You're gonna have to find somethin' a lot more effective than a ten foot barge pole to fend me off, chere," he tells me in that low, seductive accent. "B'sides, I'd rather not wait until we're de last couple on earth b'fore I get t' find out just how 'frank' you can be wit' me." All of a sudden he's standing right behind me, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body as he stands so close we're almost touching. I freeze, but not with disgust. It's the fact that I'm feeling this sudden jolt of electricity between us...

I step out of his way like lightning and whirl round to face him. Last night's dream is suddenly teasing through every fiber of my body.

"Get a clue, Cajun!" I hiss. "It ain't never gonna happen b'tween us! Not in any way, shape or form! Ah know _exactly_ what your game is! Y'all see meh as a challenge, but Ah'm tellin' you right here, right now, that we ain't evah gonna make it happen! We have about as much in common as...as a priest and a whore!"

"I dunno," he banters back lazily. "One Cajun swamp snake, one Mississippi river rat... Sounds like a match made in heaven t' me. 'Sides," he adds with a grin, "us Southerners should stick t'gether, non?"

I suppress a growl – as well as the urge to wring his neck.

"Is there a reason you actually came here, Mr. LeBeau?" I manage to ask through clenched teeth. "Or did you just want t' eavesdrop on how far _down_ you are on mah list?"

"Much as I'd love to spend my time here workin' my way up dat list of yours," he begins with that seductive smile, "I'm afraid de fates have other ideas in store for us. For the moment, anyhow," he adds suggestively. "I take it Kitty was tellin' you about a certain very distinguished VIP currently walkin' round the building?"

"Ah'm sure you're dyin' t' tell me just how 'cozy' yah are with Ms. Munroe," I retort, "so why don't y'all just spit it out an' have done with it?"

"Au contraire, chere, dis be de first time dis Cajun's ever met wit' de belle femme," he replies, looking over my shoulder at the papers strewn across my desk. "And I hope you've got somethin' t' show for dat presentation assignment I gave you, 'cos it seems Ms. Munroe wants to have a look-see what my creative team's come up with for her ad campaign. _Now_."

I glance back over my shoulder at the sum total of my work over the past few days – an array of attractive doodles a five-year old could've come up with.

Oh, _shit_.

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	7. Tactical Errors

**Disclaimer:** Marvel own these characters. If we owned them, you'd probably be reading this story in a comic strip rather than on this crazy site. One day we'll infiltrate Marvel! One day! Muahahahahahaha! XD

**A/N: **Apologies for the huge lateness of the update. The two of us got busy and this fic was way down on our priority lists...You know how it us with us temperamental creative types - sometimes a fic dies a temporary death and then rises from the ashes again... :p And yes, we have decided to reveal ourselves... Sugah & Spice are actually those scintillating sisters of Romy fanfiction - **angyxoxo **and **Ludi **:general applause and lots of bowing:general tomato throwing and lots of booing: If this fic dies another temporary death, and you want to complain about it, this now gives you the added bonus of being able to personally insult us by name. Flames will be ignored. Generous lashings of praise will, as always, be welcomed. ;)

Enjoy the latest installment!

-Ludi (the artiste formerly known as 'Spice')

Just wanted to add in that... actually, I don't know what to add in. Ludi seems to have said all that is needed to be said. Damn her! She always beats me to the punch :P And I know it's not Wednesday, but here's a special treat for you all. To all our lovely fans out there (if we have any left after this long hiatus) kisses and hugs to all! You're all so lovely! Now, return those kisses and hugs! We want to feel loved as well ;p

Read, Enjoy,and Review!

-angyxoxo (the artiste formerly known as 'Sugah')

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Mix 'n' Match **

**(7) Tactical Errors**

I'm actually quaking in my Jimmy Choo boots by the time I arrive in the conference room.

I'd spent fifteen minutes in my cube trying to psyche myself up – or, in other words, to work out some amazing bluff that'd get me out of yet another sticky situation. It was no good. I could think of nothing. Rogue never runs, so best thing to do was lay low and hope everyone would forget about me.

However, being late didn't help at all. As soon as I walked in I ended up interrupting someone's speech and earning myself some nettled looks. So, mumbling apologies, I slid into my seat and tried to make myself look as inconspicuous as possible. Unfortunately, today was the day I'd decided to wear a low-cut V-neck (what on earth possessed me to do that?), so I ended up feeling more self-conscious than usual. Especially with the way that perv Remy LeBeau was always eyeing me up like I was a piece of meat on a market slab.

Ororo Munroe was sitting at the head of the table along with Mr. God's-Gift-to-Women. The two of them already seemed quite cozy together. Why did that not surprise me?

"Did Ah miss anythin'?" I whisper to Peter Rasputin, who I happen to be sitting next to.

"Not if you take interest in anything boring old Robert Kelly has to say," he whispers back. "I'm sure that for him talking is some sort of intellectual jerking off."

We share a private giggle between the two of us, straightening our faces before anyone looks our way.

The new perfume was called _Lavande_. A quick look in my handy pocket dictionary had told me this meant lavender. Duh. Even a five year-old could've worked that one out. At least that gave me something to work on. I spent most of the meeting trying to think of a way to wheedle myself out of this mess. There seemed to be some debate about the color purple going on in the background. Ororo Munroe, that gorgeous goddess whose butt everyone was licking, was looking about as bored as I was. She flatly refused to wear purple (I wondered whether that had anything to do with the fact that purple had always been Betsy's trademark color?), and she didn't even have a clue what the name of the perfume meant. At least she had something to occupy herself with in the meantime, namely her and Remy flirting like there's no tomorrow.

At last the conference looks like it's about to be over and I think I've managed to escape – this time. But then I see Remy's giving me a look and says: "I don't s'ppose you have anyt'ing to add to dis meetin', Ms. Raven? You have quite a collection of papers there…"

I stare down at the briefing sheets, which I've happened to scribble all over. Uh oh. No way of getting out of this one, gal. You're in deep shit now. How're you supposed to get away with only a couple of flowery doodles you drew in ballpoint just half an hour ago…?

Waitaminnit… _flowery doodles_…

Without another thought I get to my feet and brandish my five-year-old scribbles in the air.

"This, ladies and gents," I launch into my speech headfirst, "is mah proposal for our new line of perfume." I look at the drawings, trying to make out what they could possibly signify, and continue: "This is… a waterfall… of flowers… of _lavenders_, of course… cascading over…uh, our model, Ms. Munroe!" I pause. Everyone looks at me blankly. I clear my throat. "Ah know what you're thinkin'. You're thinkin' this drawin' does _not_ look like lavenders. And there is a good reason for that. Ah…uh… Ah can't draw." People are looking confused now. Shit! Pick your ass up off the floor _now_ gal! "But!" I interject rapidly, "there is someone in this room who can! Ah introduce to you – Mr. Peter Rasputin!"

Peter looks about in astonishment and I hiss at him to stand up beside me. He gets to his feet, whispers in my ear: "_What_ are you doing?"

"_Play along_," I hiss back through a fake smile. "Now, ladies and gents," I begin again, "this man is a _very_ fine artist, and Ah have envisioned him as the tour-de-force of this new project. We are going to make use of this man's rare talents, and do something _no_ one in the perfume industry has ever done before! We are going to use real, breathing _art_ to promote our new product. Colorful, elegant, beautiful paintings of…uh, flowers, that hark back to the works of, uh…"

"_Fantin-Latour_," Peter whispers in my ear. _Who the hell is he?_

"Fantin-Latour," I repeat quickly. I lift my pathetic picture again, hoping I'm not making an utter cretin of myself. "This, people, is my vision. It is…simple. And it doesn't look much on the outside. But," I add, warming to the subject, "it is effective. And it is… natural. Women today don't want synthetic, overpowering perfumes that old grannies wear. We want fresh, natural, _organic_ fragrances that make us…" Quick, think of something! "…make us feel _one with nature_!" God, _please_ let them buy this crap! "And so, Ah propose the simple flower… in all its beauty, in all its glory…raining down upon a beautiful, _natural_, down-to-earth woman – the face of L&L, Ms. Ororo Munroe." I end up bestowing the stuck-up model with a sickly smile, then promptly fall back into my seat, cheeks blazing.

_Please don't let them laugh at me!_

There's a short silence. Then some hmm-ing and hah-ing and doubtful looks cast across the table. I knew it – they think I'm nuts! But at least I bluffed my way through and provided some sort of opinion, hare-brained as it was. Right?

"Ms. Raven," that old fart Robert Kelly says, "I really don't think that this is…"

Luckily, before he can launch into one of rants about how things used to be done in the old days, Ororo speaks up and over his whiny voice. "Ms… sorry, I've forgotten what your name is… I actually think this is a good idea." I sit up. She does? Like I could care less… but Ororo Munroe actually thinks _my_ half-baked scheme is good? "Granted, it needs some fleshing out, but it has some promise."

"But -" Robert begins in consternation.

"Mr. Kelly, I absolutely _refuse_ to wade through pools of gold or involve myself in death-defying stunts on top of the Eiffel Tower," the model insists flatly. "I know you have as big a budget as Calvin Klein or Elizabeth Arden, but I was born and bred an African, and we highly cherish the power of Nature. Why not go back to basics instead of throwing money round? What do we associate perfume with? Flowers. Flowers are Nature's fragrance and I think L&L should reflect that."

"My point exactly," I throw in, giving Robert a self-righteous glare. Ororo Munroe may be stuck up, but her supermodel pretensions about being 'one with the earth' have their useful side.

"And I happen to think the idea of showing this graphically – through Mr. Rasputin's art – would give the campaign the organic feel we're looking for." She turns to Peter. "Perhaps I could see your portfolio, Mr. Rasputin…?"

Peter's as stunned as I am about all this, but he catches on pretty quickly, bless him.

"Of course," he smiles.

"Well, I do believe we've settled on an idea," Ororo says, speaking for everyone else, who, so far, have looked nothing if not slightly bewildered.

Remy slouches back in his chair, steeples his fingers. "You sure 'bout dis, Ms. Munroe?" he asks. "Don't you want somet'ing more…sophisticated?"

"Mr. LeBeau I was brought up with people who have simple tastes." She smiles prettily, adds; "We don't have much of a problem with nudity either. There's something to be said for the unrefined, you know."

"I'm a great fan of all t'ings unrefined, chere," Remy grins, winking. She bats her eyelids back. I scowl in my seat. All this schmaltz is just about more than I can take.

The meeting breaks up, and I scurry out thankfully, grabbing my papers before anyone can actually see how pathetic they really were. So I got away with one of the biggest bluffs of the 21st century. Now what? I have no idea of what I'm supposed to do to get this stupid project underway. I hurry back to my cube and brood. I haven't the faintest idea what exactly my vision was _supposed_ to be, let alone what anyone else thinks it is.

"Mind if I join you?" a voice calls from behind me. I swivel round to see Peter.

"Sure," I sigh. "Please do."

He walks up, seats himself on the edge of my desk.

"That was a pretty impressive speech you made back there," he says.

"Yeah, Ah think a big wooden nose spoutin' outta mah face wouldn't be unjustified right now," I grumble.

"Hey, you sold it," he smiles. "Must mean you're good at something."

" 'Distinction in lying' does not look good on a resume, Petey." I groan and bury my head in my hands. "What am Ah gonna do now!"

"Well, as far as I know, I seem to have been drafted into your crazy scheme without my knowing it. So I guess I'm on board from here on in. Maybe we could work on this together?"

I peer up at him through my fingers. "Really?" I sniff.

"Really." He smiles.

I drop my hands.

"Ah really, _really_ owe you one," I tell him.

"I'll keep that in mind." He produces a small sketchpad, adds: "By the way – one question. How did you know I could paint?"

"Ah guess word gets round."

"What? Like you and Mr. LeBeau?"

I stare at him. "_What_?"

"You mean… nothing's going on between you two?" He looks surprised.

"Yah really think Ah'm gonna hook up with a …a man-whore like that?" I voice, outraged. "What even made you _think_ that?"

He shrugs, looking sheepish. "Rumors, I guess. Some of the folks round here…well, let's just say they think you got your position here because of a certain type of talent that _doesn't_ involve the use of brainpower."

Oh, so is _that_ what some people think about me? I should've known…

"Ah'll have you know Ah got this job due to mah excellent resume and references," I huff, adding an extra inch to my wooden nose in the process. "And as for Remy LeBeau…well, Ah wouldn't ever be seen _dead_ with a moron like that, not in a million years!"

-oOo-

It was Friday evening, and Emma Frost had an important date to keep. It almost pained her that the only man she seemed to be seeing regularly these days was a cantankerous millionaire with a stick up his ass.

"I have a date with Mr. Warren Worthington tonight," she told Bobby before leaving. "Lock up after you've cleaned the pond, will you?"

Bobby was laboring over his task catching dead leaves in a net, dressed in his usual Hawaiian shirt and shorts.

"Warren Worthington as in _the_ Warren Worthington?" he echoed, his breath catching as clouds on the air. There was an element of disappointment to his face. "You're going out with _him_?"

"Going out?" Emma looked mildly surprised. "Whatever makes you think I'd _chose_ to associate with Warren Worthington III of my own volition, Bobby? Frankly, I'd rather spend time with a low-paid cashier from the local Super-Low-Val-U Mart than such a frightful excuse for a snotty public schoolboy." She paused, musing to herself. "I'm sure they wear diapers well into their formative years. It lends to them certain inadequacies they can't quite overcome in adulthood." She stopped when she saw Bobby's confused expression. "Rich men, I mean," she hastened to add.

"Er…okay," Bobby replied, not quite knowing what to make of this outburst.

"Anyway," Emma continued, walking towards her car. "Make sure you lock the shed securely before you leave. I simply can't have anyone stealing my Dyson Turbo 4000 Deluxe lawnmower again."

Bobby watched as Emma slid into her red Porsche and speeded off, getting the distinct feeling that he was falling for one of the scariest women he'd ever met.

"Wonder if she'd spend time with an ex-Burger King employee," he muttered to himself. "We do earn 5 cents more than Super-Low-Val-U Mart cashiers after all."

-xXx-

Jean was practically sitting in a mountain of material, rag-ends, and bits of cloth. That very afternoon Scott had left for California and she'd been determined to carry on with wedding preparations without him. It really was amazing how difficult it was to sort out tablecloths and dinnerware accessories for the reception. She'd meant to sort it out two weeks ago, but hadn't gotten round to it. Now, faced with the gargantuan task, she'd felt somehow helpless and alone. Here she was, planning for her wedding, and her husband-to-be wasn't even near. This was supposed to be fun, exciting – so why was she feeling so depressed?

Jean poured herself a glass of whiskey. She hated the stuff – she kept it for Scott when he came round – but she felt like something hard to take the edge off her misery. After a few mouthfuls she was well on her way to getting drunk. She'd never held her drink well, but tonight she didn't particularly care.

"Damn you, Scott," she mumbled to her glass. "So Mr. Charles Xavier is more important to you than your wife-to-be? Should've listened to mom and never gotten involved with someone who's married to his job."

Nope, she really refused to be beaten by this. The last thing she wanted was to be sad and miserable and crying over a glass of alcohol. She refused to suffer alone. So Scott was in California. She didn't need him around to have some fun! She wasn't going to sit at home and brood! She was going to go out on the town and pretend she was single all over again! She wasn't married _yet_. She was free to do whatever she chose!

A couple of whiskeys later, Jean pulled on her coat, grabbed her purse and keys and called for a taxi. She hadn't a clue where she was going, except it was definitely going to involve bright lights and the city. She got off on a side road where a large group of people had gathered outside what seemed to be a thriving club. From inside the building, she could hear a cacophony of music and laughter.

Paying the cab driver, she wove her way through the crowd of people and up to the entrance. People were walking in freely.

"Free drinks between 9 and 10 pm!" the bouncer was calling. "Come and get 'em people! It's Logan's birthday and the Hideaway's having an hour of drinks _on the house_ in honor of everyone's favorite guy! Free drinks b'tween 9 and 10 pm guys, you can't miss it!"

Jean hovered outside the entrance a moment. Clubbing wasn't usually her scene… at least, it hadn't been since she'd met Scott. He preferred classical music to dance or techno or even disco. Jean herself wasn't big on nightclubs, but this place seemed friendly… almost inviting, in a way. Welcoming. And more importantly, anything free couldn't be bad.

Making up her mind, Jean strode inside without looking back.

-oOo-

Emma made her way to the hotel lobby where she'd planned to meet Warren. She hadn't been relishing the prospect of seeing that pompous schmuck again, but seeing the disappointment on Bobby's face when she'd mentioned the date had been enough to put her into a good mood again. Emma had an unfortunate and innate sadistic streak, and enjoyed making men suffer. She'd sniggered a little at the fact that the poor boy actually had a crush on her – there was nothing she loved more than having her ego massaged, be it by New York's richest bachelor or it's lowliest college student. Nevertheless, she just couldn't help thinking that Bobby Drake was rather cute… and his obvious adoration of her definitely made him much more appealing.

Emma strode into the lobby feeling ready to take on anything Warren Worthington had to throw at her. So she was very much surprised – and disappointed – to find that he was nowhere in sight.

"That cretinous fool must be late," she growled between her teeth, tapping her feet and staring down at her expensive Rolex watch. "I'll teach him to mess with my time!"

She was just about to consider leaving herself when she felt someone tap her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me – Ms. Emma Frost?"

Emma swung round in surprise to see a dark-haired woman standing behind her – every inch as busty and precocious as Emma herself.

"And who might _you_ be?" she asked, looking down her nose at the woman in disgust – which was pretty hard considering the fact that she was already a couple of inches taller than Emma.

"Jennifer Walters," the woman introduced herself, holding out her hand. The two shared a withering handshake, looking at each other with mutual dislike. Jennifer Walters. Emma had heard of her – she was one of New York's most successful and ruthless lawyers, with the added bonus of having a body every man in the city slavered after.

"It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," Jennifer said, as if the exact opposite were true.

"Likewise," Emma practically sneered. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Actually, I've come here to discuss some business with you," Jennifer replied airily. Emma glared at her with suspicion.

"With me? I'm sure there's nothing we have to say to one another, Ms. Walters."

"On the contrary," the other woman smiled coldly, "I've come here on behalf of my client, Mr. Warren Worthington. He had, ah, more important things than seeing you on his priority list, I'm afraid, and is currently out of the country." Seeing the shock on Emma's face, her smile grew even wider. "Shall we sit?" she asked, gesturing to a nearby table.

Despite herself, Emma felt her cheeks reddening. She sat down slowly, schemes of revenge already forming rabidly in her brain.

Warren Worthington had humiliated her for the last time!

-xXx-

I can't believe it. This has to be the first day I've ever worked overtime; and even more amazing, I've actually enjoyed it.

As I walk down the corridor to Mr. LeBeau's office, I proudly leaf through the photocopies of my proposal for the new ad campaign. It gives me a weird kind of satisfaction to know that at least _somebody_ appreciates and admires something I've done. Even Peter Rasputin seems excited about the new project. Now there's one sweet little Siberian plough-boy. It _would_ figure that as soon as I meet a decent guy it turns out someone else has claimed him. I could've ignored that. But my sense of honor prevails. I even did every good gal's duty and introduced him to Kitty. Momma did instill some down-home values into this rogue after all.

I walk up to Mr. LeBeau's office to find the door slightly ajar. I'm just about to knock respectfully when I catch a glimpse of Remy and his 'guest' inside the room. It's Ororo Munroe. Hmm. I should've known.

Commonsense is telling me to keep a distance, but instead I hover just outside the room and peer at them through the crack in the door. What I can say? I've never particularly been known for my commonsense anyway.

They're standing by the desk, talking. As usual, that slippery sleazebag is working his mojo for all he's worth. And from the way Ororo's smiling and giggling, it's working! Unbelievable!

"I'm so sorry about my French, Remy," the beautiful model apologizes. "I feel so embarrassed, not even knowing what the name of the new perfume meant! I should've asked you sooner."

"Oh, don't worry your beautiful self about it, Ms. Munroe," he replies in that low, soft voice of his. "Truth is, most of de time we just call our perfumes by French names b'cause it sounds good."

"Please, call me Ororo," she insists coyly, touching his hand lightly with her own. Hmph! Doesn't take long for that stuck-up little tramp to cave in now, does it!

"Ororo," he corrects himself with a charming smile. They laugh. _Ugh!_

"You know," Ororo begins, after a moment, "since I'm now the face of a French company, maybe I should start learning a little of the language…" She pauses, and I'm certain she's batting her eyelids at him. "Maybe you could be the one to teach me, Remy."

_No no no NO!_

"C'est une excellent idea," he agrees seductively, inching closer to her. "Maybe I could teach you some French right now, bien? You just watch my lips."

I lean in closer to watch her reaction, only to find she's falling for the bait. The next moment he's using those oh-so-skilful lips of his on hers! I hold back an enraged gasp. Oh _please_! I could see that one coming a mile away! Not to mention, _I'm_ the one who needs help with my French, not _her_!

Right, this is it! I've had just about enough of Mr. LeBeau's gratuitous little show! Clearing my throat _very_ loudly, I stalk into the room without even attempting to knock. The two spring apart like lightning, and it satisfies me to know that they've been caught red-handed by none other than yours truly. Ororo doesn't know where to put her face, but Remy, on the other hand, looks like he's just dropped a nickel and found a dime. What does it take to wipe the smile off that infuriating man's face!

"Mr. LeBeau," I state coldly, "I've finished that proposal for you. Perhaps you'd like to see it?" I hold up my precious project, showing proof that I wasn't just outside to casually spy on his little tryst. Hah! Let him worm his way out of this one!

"Ah – Anna," he greets me with characteristic ease, while Ororo busily occupies herself with gathering up her belongings into her purse. "Of course." He turns to his latest conquest, smiles his winning smile and says: "Ororo, do you mind…?"

"Not at all," she replies quickly, cheeks flushed and a simpering smile locked onto her cherry-red lips. "You're obviously busy. I won't get in the way."

"Ma chere, you're never in the way," he assures her suavely, "But perhaps you could call me…?" He hands her his card. Oh God, someone pass me the barf bucket, please!

"Of course," she beams at him. Geez, what an idiot! Every gal knows that if it's not the guy who's calling you, he ain't really interested. She leaves quickly, passing me a first-prize scowl before banging the door shut behind her. Hah! Betsy would be highly amused to know I've now made an enemy out of a world-famous supermodel.

"Well," I state icily, once we're alone, "looks like you've scored, Mr. LeBeau."

"Looks like you have too," he remarks, still smiling smugly as he goes to pour himself a drink. "Congratulations on your first big assignment bein' approved, chere."

I glower at him, march up to the desk and slap my files down for him to look at.

"Ah s'ppose you're feelin' very pleased with yourself, knowin' that hirin' me into your creative team has paid off," I comment acidly. "Although maybe not in the way you thought it would."

He appraises me, those dark eyes of his sparkling with amusement.

"On the contrary, ma chere, you've exceeded my expectations in almost every possible way. And I have a feelin' you're goin' t' carry on doin' so." He pauses to let the sentence sink in. So he's still expecting me to give into his charms, is he? I've gotta give it to him – the jerk's stubborn as a mule.

I make no reply, so he walks up to stand beside me as he rifles through my presentation folder. He could've done it over the desk, but I suspect he likes intimidating me by standing close by. I don't make a move. The more someone pushes me, the less I yield. He wants to play his stupid games, fine, let him!

When he's finished, he closes the folder, looks at me, and smiles.

"I guess I was right when I detected dat creative streak in you, Anna. Dis is good stuff. _Really_ good stuff. I'm impressed."

"Thank you," I mutter. I hate having to be polite to him.

"Heh. No need t' thank me. Dis Cajun appreciates it when his gamble wit' an employee pays off." He grins. "You got some impressive assets, p'tit. You shouldn't be afraid to use 'em."

"And exactly what assets would you be referring to, Mr. LeBeau?" I shoot at him caustically. He chuckles softly.

"Dat's what I like about you, Anna. Half de innuendoes we make come outta your own mouth." He puts his drink down and turns to me, those soft eyes of his suddenly intense. "How long we gonna keep dis up, chere? Only I'm kinda intrigued t' know just how much of a 'rogue' you really are."

There's no way I'm going to turn and fall for those big, pretty eyes of his. So I look away, my mouth set into a hard line.

"Ah can show you _exactly _how much of a rogue Ah am, sugah," I inform him coldly. "But probably in ways y' ain't gonna like at all."

"Oh?" His voice is a low purr. "Is dat a promise?"

He reaches out a hand and touches my hip, his fingers caressing downward over the curve of my butt. I freeze, a breath catching in my throat. I've been groped by guys before in nightclubs – I've never understood why men can't get how disgustingly unsexy it is to be manhandled from out of nowhere. But this is different. His touch is so soft, so subtle, so inviting… that for one wild moment I have the urge to accept the invitation, jump into his arms and kiss him passionately.

_Over my dead body!_

Without another thought I whip round and slap him hard in the face. He reels back, half stunned, half awed. Oh! How satisfying is _that!_

"Ah'll thank you not t' touch mah butt, y' low-life swamp rat!" I rage at him. "You want some tramp t' touch up, Ah'm sure that floozy supermodel of yours will be _more_ than obligin'!"

Oops. I hadn't quite meant for that to slip out as accusingly as it did. He immediately catches the tone in my voice and smiles with sudden enlightenment, his eyes sparkling.

"Anna Raven," he begins slyly, "are you tryin' t' tell me dat you like me a lot?"

I bristle at the suggestion.

"No, I'm tryin' t' tell you that Ah hate you a lot, are yah deaf!"

His grin is complacent.

"You're jealous," he states in that irritatingly self-assured way of his. The _nerve_! To think I'd even give two sticks whether he has his tongue down a supermodel's throat or not!

"_Jealous!_" I explode indignantly. "Ah shouldn't give a damn if yah were seein' _all_ the supermodels in the world – they're all quite welcome t' your pathetic self! An' if you even so much as _think_ of layin' another finger on meh, you'll sure as hell be findin' out why mah friends call me Rogue! And let me warn yah, it ain't gonna be a pretty sight!"

I storm out of the room as quickly as I entered it. The day I'm jealous of any woman that Cajun gets his slimy paws on is the day I start spinning in my grave!

-oOo-

Most men would've been deflated after being rejected, insulted and slapped in the face by a woman – but not so Remy LeBeau. Instead he found himself gazing at the titillating sight of Anna Raven's perfectly shaped ass as she sashayed indignantly out of the room, before it was finally blocked from view by the door slamming shut.

Forget Ororo Munroe! The only woman he wanted right now was a certain Mississippi river rat with a bad temper and a white streak in her hair.

"Quelle femme!" he murmured under his breath before downing the rest of his drink in one go. He rubbed his cheek, which still tingled with the shape of her hand, then shook his head humorously. "Dat lady is somethin' else."

Most women he met couldn't resist his charms for more than two minutes – yet here she was, he'd known her an entire week and she was _still_ holding out against him. He had to admit, his fascination with her had stemmed from the minute she'd sassed him in the interview last week. From that moment onward everything about her had been utterly irresistible to him. He hadn't felt this way about a femme before – well, not in recent years anyhow… but that was beside the point.

She was the most incredibly sexy woman he'd ever laid eyes (or hands) on , and Remy LeBeau was now completely determined that, before the month was out, Anna Raven was going to be his.

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	8. Turning Points

**Disclaimer: **Marvel owns the characters, not us.

**A/N: **Thanks goes out to all those who took the time to review. We loved hearing everyone's thoughts so keep them coming. And lookie here, we actually made this week's deadline. Even I thought the whole "updating every wed." was sooooo not going to work. But Ludi went CRAZY and wrote basically the whole story... at least for one couple that is. I'm sure you all know who that lucky couple was. Anyway, everyone read, review and enjoy- _angyxoxo_  
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Mix 'n' Match

**(8) Turning Points**

The bar was lively and rowdy. Jean sat at the bar alone and drank a tequila. Under normal circumstances she would've been feeling somewhat intimidated by the unfamiliar surroundings, but the warmth of the drink was already settling in her stomach and she was feeling bolder than usual. As she sat on her stool and watched the people chatting and laughing, a man passed by and caught her eye.

"Hey, gorgeous," he grinned at her. "Haven't seen you round here before. What's a beautiful redhead like you doing here without a lucky guy to keep her company?"

Jean gave him the once over. He wasn't her kind of guy at all – the blond, blue-eyed jock type – but he was kinda cute and she found herself saying: "Maybe I'm just waiting for someone like you to come along."

Inside she was shocked to hear herself say the words. _What would Scott think,_ she thought to herself, but then the whole idea that she'd come here because she hadn't cared what he thought came back to her. The man smiled and said: "Wanna dance, gorgeous?"

"Sure," she replied, slipping off her stool. "Why not?"

Jean danced with the guy and decided he wasn't that bad at all. When they stopped he bought her another drink and they sat and talked for a while.

"So," he asked her over his glass, "what's your name?"

"Jean," she replied. She'd drunk too much, she knew it. Her head was feeling kind of heavy and her belly was warm. But she still kept on sipping her cocktail.

"I'm Duncan," he introduced himself, smiling and showing a mouth of straight, white, perfect teeth. "I'm a lifeguard down at the local leisure center." Jean looked him over. If there was one profession she had to put him in, it'd be the lifeguard business, if not football. "What do you do?" he asked.

"I'm a doctor," she replied. Her drink was nearly finished.

"No way!" he exclaimed, shocked. "I mean… no disrespect or anything… But you look like you could be a model or something!"

"Oh don't be silly!" she scoffed, blushing, which didn't show since the drink had already flushed her cheeks red.

"No, I mean it," he insisted, "You're, like, really beautiful!"

A part of Jean knew he was only speaking pretty words, but she couldn't help but feel flattered that a guy other than Scott was paying her this much attention. He watched as she downed the rest of her drink and asked: "You wanna dance some more?"

She accepted, but by now she would've accepted just about anything. As she danced with Duncan she caught sight of other men glancing at her in appreciation – not to mention a lot of girls throwing her jealous evils. She was feeling elated – she'd never felt so liberated in all her life. She was young, she was free, and she felt like the sexiest creature alive. She honestly thought she'd never had so much fun in all her life! What more could a girl want?

As the song ended, Jean felt Duncan lean in to kiss her, but she wasn't _quite_ that far-gone yet, much as she appreciated his admiration. Quickly she held him back by putting a hand against his chest, and smiling she said: "Uh-uh, not yet hot-shot. I want another drink first."

He looked at her and licked his lips, his eyes sparkling. _Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen_.

"Sure thing, gorgeous," he drawled.

She knew it wasn't sensible. In fact, she knew it was even stupider than going out to a nightclub and dancing with some idiot jock whose head was probably as empty as a soccer ball. But she found herself sucking on another margarita while she flirted away with the handsome lifeguard.

"So, whose birthday is it?" she asked Duncan. "I heard the guy outside saying they were giving away free drinks in honor of some guy called…"

"Logan." Duncan nodded. "He's the guy who owns this place. Great guy too. Everyone loves him."

"He's that great, huh?" Jean asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Personally I don't see it, but all the ladies think the sun shines out of his backside. He's got his own personal female fanclub!"

"He must be a Hugh Jackman lookalike or something," she laughed.

"Hmm, not really," Duncan frowned. "I mean, Hugh Jackman's really tall, and like… well, to be honest, Logan's a short little runt…hairy too… and kinda bad-tempered."

Jean chuckled. "Some girls like hairy," she stated, and giggled an airhead giggle. She was beginning to feel light-headed, and her vision was blurry. If she could've heard herself, she would've shrieked with disgust, but she was way past the point of caring or even noticing.

"Enough about him," Duncan insisted, smiling that wide, white-toothed smile. "I wanna hear more about _you_, gorgeous. Like how come you're not taken already."

It was then that she realized just how far she'd gone. She found herself desperately trying to hide the engagement ring on her finger. She couldn't admit just _how_ taken she was. She thought of Scott, the man she loved. _What on earth was she doing!_ She didn't even _like_ this Duncan.

She said nothing and drained the rest of her drink down her throat before ordering another one, this one containing twice as much alcohol content. Halfway through it, all thoughts of her guilt and Scott were gone. In fact, she could barely get a coherent thought out of her head.

"Hey, gorgeous." Duncan was beginning to look worried now. "Maybe you should be toning down a bit on the drink there, don't you think?"

"Just one more," she assured him, standing up and wobbling a little bit. "I have to congratulate the birthday boy."

"What?"

"Help me up," she ordered him, and began to climb up onto the bar. Bewildered, and not a little bit embarrassed, Duncan helped her teeter up onto the ledge, not even attempting to cop a grope in the process. Jean managed to stand up and swayed a little on her heels. From where she was standing she could look down on the entire nightclub and see everything that was going on. As it happened, she was just standing under a spotlight that shimmered on her flame-red hair and made her appear like some sort of beautiful phoenix rising from the ashes. Raising her glass in the air she gathered her voice and called out over the music:

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

Only a few people looked round, but as they saw this stunning vision before them more and more people began to notice. Usually Jean would've been embarrassed by all this public attention, but she really was downright drunk by now and didn't care.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" she called again. "Now that I have your attention, I think it's only fair that we raise our glasses to the birthday boy who's made such a wonderful evening possible for all of us!"

There was a whoop of applause from the audience, most of whom were as drunk or hyped-up as she was.

"Now I propose," she declared, beginning to revel in the attention, "a toast! To Logan!"

"To Logan!" everyone chorused.

"May you have many happy returns of the day!" Jean continued without missing a beat, "And many other opportunities to bless us with free drinks! Happy birthday, Logan! We love you!"

There was an outburst of cheering, applause and birthday wishes. Jean lifted her drink to join in the toast when suddenly the world started to swirl around her and she found she couldn't stand up straight. The noise of the crowd faded away into the background and she felt dizzy. She stared blankly at the glass in her hand, wondering why on earth it was floating in and out of her range of vision. Then, despite her state of mind, her doctor's logic kicked in and she realized that she was entering the state that most people in her profession called 'paralytic'.

_Oh shit_.

Before another coherent thought could express itself in her mind, Jean had keeled over the ledge and into the arms of the man who'd been sitting and watching her spectacle on the bar. Staring down at the beautiful damsel in distress who'd just literally dropped into his embrace, an amused smile lit his face as he saw that she was flat-out unconscious.

"Thanks, darlin'," he grinned to himself. "You just gave this birthday boy the best present he could've ever wished for."

-oOo-

Betsy had just been through a six-hour flight from hell. She'd never flown well, not even during her days as a jet-setting supermodel. She'd been seated right next to some rowdy and boisterous seven year-old who'd managed to propel his mashed potato right into her beautiful purple locks. And they'd just happened to hit a storm, during which she spent her time gripping the arm rests praying that God would get her out the other side alive. She wasn't really sure what she feared most – dying in a plane crash or her mother's wrath.

Yet, through all that pain and suffering, she knew she would gladly endure it all over again if _he_ would just call.

But Neal didn't call and it was tearing her up inside.

Sure, she knew that she could simply dial his number and call him, but a part of her was so scared that if she did, he might actually confirm her fears – that this wasn't just an argument but actually the end of their relationship.

A part of her wasn't even sure why she loved Neal. She knew her friends wouldn't approve of him and that was why she hadn't brought him round them very much. She knew that the two of them hardly had anything in common except for maybe the fact that they were both keen on saving the world – albeit him a little more so than she. And she couldn't forget all those times he'd been condescending towards her, or made her feel guilty for enjoying her fashion programs.

Betsy had cheered up nevertheless, when she'd seen her old butler, Jeffrey, waiting for her at the airport. He'd just happened to be her favorite playmate as a toddler, and even though he pretended to have the British stiff upper-lip, there was no doubt at all that he was as fond of Betsy as she was of him. They'd spent the journey back to Braddock Manor chatting to each other and catching up on old times, so that once they'd finally arrived at the awesome gates of the great ancestral home, Betsy was almost put at her ease.

Inside the manor, Elisabeth Sr. was nowhere to be seen. The servants, however, were going in and out in a mad rush to prepare for the Gala. Coming back home was always a strange experience for Betsy – here was the place she'd grown up, and yet, she always felt she was no longer a part of it, since she'd been living in New York so long. Her recent disagreements with her mother made her all the more nervous at the fact that she'd returned.

It was as she was standing in the hallway feeling forlorn that she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her from behind and lift her up. Tilting her head back to see who her captor was, she met an identical pair of piercing blue eyes staring straight back at her. "Brian!" she squealed joyfully, and he let her down.

"Betsy! It's been too long, sister-dear!" he greeted just as jubilantly as they shared a bear-hug of an embrace.

"Tell me about it! So, how have you been? How's Meggan? Where is she? The last time I saw you two, it was…"

"Our wedding, which means it's been way too long," Brian finished her sentence for it – it was an intriguing habit the two twins had shared almost since the moment they could speak.

Betsy looked away guiltily and tried to explain. "Well, I was busy in New York and…"

"And Mum has been driving you insane enough with just her phone calls – so insane that you'd have to be crazy to willingly live back here again where she would actually have access to nagging at you in person," Brian finished off again, smirking with amusement. Betsy slapped him playfully on the chest and said, "That's a horrible thing to say of Mum… I wasn't thinking that at all!"

"Betsy, I'm your twin. We don't get closer than that when it comes to blood relations. I know when you're lying, so don't even bother! As for Mum, for your information she's in the city for the rest of the day so no need to look over your shoulder everywhere you walk." Brian grinned broadly as Betsy couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thanks. That's good to know. So, tell me, how's Meggan and married life treating you?" Betsy asked again.

"Well," he began excitedly, "married life is treating us well, and for your information – you're going to be an aunt soon!" Brian had expected Betsy to burst with joy. Instead, her smile turned upside down and she cried, "No! Brian! You two can't have a baby! What's wrong with you? You've only been married for what… eight months? And you're going to have a baby? Do you really have to?"

"Umm…excuse me?" Brian asked, completely confused.

"This is just going to be another thing Mum is going to nag me about. She's going to say, 'oh, look at Brian. He's finishing his doctorate in Physics this year. He has a lovely wife. He's going to be starting a family. Now, why can't you be more like your brother, Elisabeth? It beggars belief that I could bear a set of twins who don't have any of the same ambitions and goals in life.' You know the routine…" She sighed.

"Betsy!" Brian grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her playfully. "Stop! You are getting way too melodramatic for your own good! Mum may be a dragon, but she's not _that_ sanctimonious!"

Betsy pouted.

"Well, fine, I can handle you having the perfect life – as long as Jamie's still a screw-up. Tell me he's still screwing up those crazy business ventures of his!" It'd long been a standing family joke that Jamie, the eldest Braddock son, had been attempting to patent the world's first hoverchair for the unfortunately disabled. Brian rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"Actually, Betts… Jamie's been working for Dad for a while now and he's doing quite well actually. He's overseeing the Braddock Charity Foundation and is technically the host for tomorrow evening."

All the blood drained from Betsy's face. While she'd been bumming around her apartment in New York the past several months, even Jamie had got a job and was doing something worthwhile with his life. Betsy could almost see her mother's disapproving face looming over her. "Oh god… I'm _so_ screwed," she muttered under her breath.

"What?" Brian queried, but Betsy was already halfway up the stairs and up to her old room.

"I'll talk to you later, Brian!" she called. "I have to make an urgent phone call! And tell Megan that I'm so happy for you two." With that, she slipped into her room, slammed the door, pulled out her cell phone and dialed.

Within minutes, that familiar, irascible voice practically growled down the phone: "Betsy! How many times must I tell you _not_ to call me on my business line!"

"Emma!" Betsy cried frantically. "I am so utterly screwed! Brian is having a baby and Jamie is some sort of CEO of daddy's charity thing and I am a worthless nothing!"

"What the fuck are you yammering about? Betsy, dear, as much as I love to save you from having a nervous breakdown – _again _– I've just come back from an absolutely horrendous business meeting, and I am _not_ in the mood for anyone else's personal intrigues." Emma proceeded to go on an incoherent rant about a 'blonde bastard from the deepest depths of Hell', which included copious lashings of choice oaths and swear words.

"But, Emma!" Betsy cried, once she'd gotten the chance to open her mouth. "I never really ask much of you and I'd appreciate your advice right now since you're the only person I know whose temper is exactly like my mum's and…"

"Just tell the old bat to get off your case and you'll do as you like because it's your life!" Emma barked. "Grow a backbone already, Betsy! That's all the advice I'm going to give you. And maybe you should dump that prick, Neal, since I don't recall you ever being this soft before you met him! Now I'm really sorry, but I think I'm going to need a stiff drink and a bath to calm myself down. Enjoy yourself and goodbye!"

The line went dead and Betsy stuck her tongue out at her phone. Just what was up with Emma to get her in such a bad mood? And how on earth was she supposed to enjoy herself at this stupid Gala when it hardly meant she could avoid her mother?

_Please just phone me, Neal, take my mind off all of this, let me know I have your support!_

But still the phone remained silent.

-xXx-

At that very moment, halfway across the world, Jean woke up to find herself lying in a strange bed with a raging hangover. She tried to sit up and every time she moved it sent the room spinning. She groaned out loud, unable to remember how or why she appeared to be in this state. It would've been bad enough if she'd woken up in her own room with a splitting headache and utterly incapable of getting out of bed, but the fact that she was in some dingy little backroom in a place she didn't recognize made her situation a whole lot worse.

"Where am I?" she asked herself.

"The _Hideaway_," came a gruff voice from out of nowhere. Shocked, Jean turned her head to see a man at a table in the corner of the room. He was short, muscular and rugged, almost wild-looking – but his eyes were strangely kind. He was pouring water into a glass for her. "A nightclub," he explained, sensing her confusion. "I'm the owner. Name's Logan." He looked up and smiled at her. "Don't worry, Red, yer in safe hands. I've been takin' care of you ever since you passed out at the bar."

_Passed out at the bar_? Jean groaned again and slumped back against the pillow.

"What the hell happened?" she asked hoarsely, rubbing her temple.

"Well…" Logan began, coming over with an amused smile on his face, "you were havin' a good time. Dancin' an' drinkin' wit' some fella and chattin' away for all you were worth. _Then_ you got up on the bar and toasted me." He grinned. Despite the way her head was pounding, Jean thought he had a nice smile. "I'm not into birthday surprises these days. Too old. But lemme tell you, _this_ surprise sure was a welcomed one."

He lifted her head lightly to put the glass to her lips and she let him. Feral though he looked, there was something oddly gentle about the man… the way he was so attentive to her, the way he treated her with such respect… Jean sipped the water slowly and began to feel better.

"So you're the famous Logan, huh?" she asked weakly, trying to smile, even though it jarred her head painfully.

"Well, I wouldn't know about bein' famous," he smirked. "Only in a certain kinda company, if yer know what I mean." He winked.

"Did I… did I make much of a fool of myself out there?" she asked anxiously, wondering what Scott would say if he knew what she'd been up to. _At least he's away_, she thought to herself in relief, _otherwise he'd be going out of his mind with worry right now._

"I gotta tell y' somethin', Red," he began seriously. "That headache you got right now? It's tellin' you that you were pretty damn drunk back there. There's a reason you can't remember what happened. It's because your mind's tellin' you it don't _want_ t' remember what happened."

"That bad, huh?" she winced as he finally drew the glass away from her lips and helped her to sit upright. "Just tell me… that guy I was with… nothing _happened_ between us, did it?"

_Please don't let anything have happened…_

"Don't you worry, darlin'," Logan patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. "Nothin' happened. Classy lady like you's got more taste than a low-life punk like that, right? And if he'd tried anything… trust me, I woulda chucked him outta this joint."

She smiled to hear the humor in his words. He could tell from the tone of her voice that she was worried about what had happened, and she knew he was doing his best to put her at her ease and reassure her. It felt nice to know that someone cared, even if they _were_ a stranger…

"Thanks for taking care of me, Mr. Logan," she spoke, feeling she owed him at least her thanks. "I just hope I didn't take up too much of your time."

"Hey," he smiled, getting up and turning to place the glass back on the table. "It ain't every day a guy like me gets t' take care of beautiful broad such as yerself. So," he changed the subject, "how're you feelin'?"

"Woozy… But better."

"Glad t' hear it." He paused and stared at her before clearing his throat. "Well, I guess I should be gettin' you home. Don't wanna spend the rest of the night in this place, do you."

"You're right. I should be getting home." She slid out of the bed and tried to stand on her two feet, only to immediately lose her balance. But he was there in a trice, his arm encircling her waist, helping her up. Jean felt the warmth of his hand on her hip and a strange, tingling sensation tickled her nerves. For a moment she was confused to feel the electricity of their contact, but then she put it firmly down to the drink and said: "I think I should stay here and sleep it off…"

"You sure?" he asked with concern. "I can always call you a taxi, if you want."

Jean didn't answer. She really wanted to get home to the safety and comfort of her bed, and nice though Logan was, she hardly knew him and if she stayed she'd end up feeling awkward. On the other hand he was treating her like a perfect gentleman, and for some reason she couldn't quite pinpoint, she felt totally comfortable and secure in his presence, unlike most men, who tried to seduce her any way they could.

"Hey," he assured her, mistaking her silence for worries of another kind. "No need to worry, Red. The guy who runs this cab business, he's a personal friend o' mine, runs a reputable business, every driver checked out thoroughly. I'll even get you a ride on the house, how 'bout that?"

She gave a weak laugh. "Oh… I didn't mean to offend you… I'm sure I can trust you Mr. Logan, it's just…" _It's just my home's so cold and lonely and I don't want to go back to all the responsibilities back there…_ She lowered her head, trying to hold back from confiding in him, this stranger she barely knew. "Alright," she finally agreed. "I'd love to take a cab home. Thanks. I owe you one, Mr. Logan."

He smiled that smile at her again, the one that changed that wild-looking face into something kind and compassionate…almost handsome. "You don't owe me nothin', Red," he said softly. Then he frowned, turned quickly and went out into the bar. "I'll just call you that cab home, okay?"

-oOo-

It's my second week at L&L and I'm already having my first official company board meeting. I'm no longer simply up against Remy's so-called Creative Team and that diva-wannabe, Ororo Munroe. This meeting will involve Remy, the head of company, Jean-Paul, who I haven't seen since my last interview, Monet St. Croix who I can live without seeing ever, and a bunch of fat jolly investors who are summoned to these monthly meetings to keep updated with the current business situations. Great, just great.

I'm beginning to scare myself silly over all the bullshitting I reckon I'm going to have to keep up if I want to remain at L&L. Knowing last week's 'success' was an utter fluke doesn't help. I may have fooled Ms. Munroe, but cash-obsessed businessmen are a different ball-game altogether. I'm hoping that if my wit can't distract them, then perhaps I'm going to have to make use of those famous assets Remy seems to think so highly of. I put on my red suit, hoping it's at least somewhat appropriate for the occasion.

Once I walk into the Boardroom and glance in Monet's direction, I know it isn't.

"Ro…Anna. Have a seat." Remy pats the seat next to him and gives me a look I can only describe as perverted as he runs his gaze over my body. Suddenly the red suit doesn't seem like such a good idea. I roll my eyes and look round the room for another seat, but the only other chair available is at the head of the table, which is undoubtedly reserved for Jean-Paul.

"Do you plan to stand throughout the meeting, Ms. Raven?" Monet's icy, condescending voice asks.

"No," I mumble and trudge over to the empty seat next to Remy. I flop down on the chair and take the papers out of my bag, poignantly ignoring him. He doesn't take the hint.

"Gotta say dat's a lovely shirt y' got on dere, chere," he whispers and looks down my shirt not so subtly.

I hurriedly button up my blazer before I turn and give him my fiercest glower, though it comes off looking pleased due to the pink circles that appear on my face. Damn me for blushing so easily!

His soft chuckling doesn't help the blushing subside one bit, and neither does his next comment. "Wonder if your other cheeks get as red if I span…"

"Shut up!" I yell at him before I even have a second to think. The rest of the board members turn their heads and all eyes are glued on me. If my cheeks were pink before, they're completely red now.

"Excuse her everyone. I'm sure y'know how hot-headed women can get when…well, when dey don't get what dey want in de…well, y'know in de what, I'm sure." Remy charms the rest of the board who, being all men, chuckle along with him. The only one that isn't amused is Monet, who is practically shooting daggers at me with her glare. _Don't worry_, I want to say to her, _yah can keep the rat all t' yourself, Miss. High-an'-Mighty._

I look down at my papers, trying desperately to overcome my embarrassment, when Remy has the audacity to aggravate me even more by whispering, "Y' know, chere, you don't need t' wear a sexy suit like dat t' charm dis Cajun. All you gotta do is ask."

By now I'm just about at boiling point.

"Don't flatter yahself, swamp-rat!" I hiss back at him. "Men who have their brains inside their pants just don't attract me in the least!"

"I assure you, chere," he replies smoothly, "you look in my pants, you'll find dat what's inside dere sure as hell ain't no brain."

I'm really, _really_ about to slap that grin off his face, when Jean-Paul enters the room and saves that infuriating bastard the humiliation of having me slap him _again_ in front of a bunch of self-satisfied fat cats. Walking swiftly in, he takes a seat at the head of the table and everyone resumes their business countenances. Holding my head up high, I also turn to face Jean-Paul with a dead serious look on my face. My cheeks, however, are still burning, and I know that swamp rat's eyes are still on me. That idiot brain of his is probably fantasizing that one day I really will look inside his pants and find out what's in there. Like I want to know!

"Welcome everyone," Jean-Paul begins in his no-nonsense manner. "I hope everybody's having a grand day and hopefully this meeting will be quick and painless. First on the agenda is the marketing division. Remy, I assume that you have met with the new face for our new line. What have your team managed to come up with?"

"Actually, we've come up with a few fantastic ideas just to say the least. In charge of de innovative new campaign is our latest addition to de team and one of de _finest_, even if I do say so myself." He grins and gestures towards me. "Let me introduce to you, de _delectable_ Ms. Anna Raven."

Shooting a quick glare at him, I clear my throat and hurriedly begin to talk, hoping to distract myself from the Cajun sitting next to me and tactlessly eyeing up my butt. I quickly go into my ideas and explain the details of what I have in mind for the new fragrance line. By the end of it, I get most of board member's approval along with Jean-Paul. The only one who doesn't seem impressed is Monet, but I ignore the cow since I'm still on a high from my first major presentation.

"Well, that sounds absolutely wonderful, Anna," Jean-Paul enthuses. "Different…But certainly interesting. I simply can't wait to see the outcome of all this. Please do keep me updated. Now," he looks down at his papers, "let's move onto the next agenda…" He trails off, though I don't hear a thing after that. All I hear is him saying that my idea sounds wonderful. I'm a hit and it's only my second week on the job. I feel like I'm floating on cloud nine. I might actually have found my niche in life and dare I say it? A career?

Then his voice enters my mind just when the meeting is about over. "Quite a presentation, Rogue. Are you always dis passionate about everything y' do?" That Cajun accent of his is low and husky, tickling my senses. I get that feeling again, the feeling that I could just jump in his arms and…No! I will _not _fall for him _or_ his charming Cajun tongue…!

Speaking of tongues…

_Dammit, Roguey, stop thinkin' about kissin' him!_

As soon as Jean-Paul says, "Meeting adjourned," I can't run away fast enough.

I'm halfway back to my cubicle before I realize that I've left all my papers back in the boardroom. Sighing with frustration, and wishing with all my might that I can somehow mentally lift the papers to me, I realize that I have to go back and fetch them. They were after all, my reports and plans for this new campaign I'm supposedly heading. When I reach the door again, I notice that it is half-open and there are still people in there. Two people actually.

Remy and Jean-Paul.

Being the ever so stupid me, I decide to wait by the door until they're finished before I go back in. Anyone would think I'd learned not to eavesdrop behind doors by now, but if there's one thing you can rely on me for, it's to _never_ learn from past mistakes. Not only is eavesdropping a bad idea, but when the topic of conversation is as interesting as the one I find myself listening to right now, it's amazing how quickly you can lose your senses. This ultimately leads to trouble. So, let me make this a rule now though it's such a simple rule. A rule that most mothers instill into their children though, of course, children never listen.

**Rule 5: Think before you say something!**

"Remy, do you really think she's able to handle such a huge campaign as this?" Jean-Paul is asking sceptically. "This will be our biggest campaign in three years. Are you sure you should give her all that responsibility?" I frown, knowing it's me he's talking about. _Don't tell me he's one of those bozos who think I got here by sweet-talkin' that idiot Cajun!_

"Do you not trust me wit' dis?" Remy responds. "Listen t' me – she's capable, not just a pretty face. She's a smart woman, JP. 'Sides, I'm de one who's ultimately in charge, so believe me when I say I got dis under control."

Hmm, that was unexpected. I can't help but smile at the way he's attempted to redeem me.

"Are you sure you do, Remy?" Jean-Paul asks doubtfully. "Are you sure you're not letting your feelings get in the way?" I frown again. And exactly _what_ feelings is he talking about? As far as I can tell, Remy's feelings towards me amount to lust, and lust doesn't seem to have gotten in the way of his job at L&L so far.

"Trust me, I'm very professional." Remy states smoothly, which earns him a scoff from me. Apparently, it earns him one from Jean-Paul as well.

"Right… I know your reputation, Remy. I bet there isn't a woman in your department that you haven't had the pleasure of getting to know…_personally._"

Hey, wait a minute! I'm personally offended by the comment, since I am one of those women that he hasn't been able to get with in any sort of way – nor will he ever!

"And dis is coming from a man who went through… how many was it? Seven delivery boys in de last month?" Remy retorts and before I can even process it, it slips from my mouth.

"Holy shit! That's a lot of balls in the air!" I say out loud and immediately clamp my mouth shut. Maybe they didn't hear me. Maybe I only said it in my head. _Maybe…_

In the ensuing silence I squeeze my eyes shut and _pray_ I only said it in my head. No such luck.

"Whoever's out there," Jean-Paul's voice says sternly, "will you please come in."

_Shit, shit, shit! _Mentally kicking myself very vigorously indeed, I step meekly inside the room, my cheeks blazing again. With my head down, I quickly start rambling like an idiot. "Ah'm so sorry, Mr. Beaubier. Ah didn't mean t' listen in on your conversation or say that stupid thing Ah said. Ah was heading back t'work and then Ah realized Ah forgot my files and Ah had to come back but then you two were having this conversation and Ah didn't want to interrupt and so Ah thought Ah'd just wait by the door, but then he said and then Ah said… and it was utterly disgustin' and wrong, and Ah'm sorry and Ah just…"

"Anna," Jean-Paul interrupts my incoherent rambling, a bemused look on his face, "it's okay. Just… don't do it again."

"Yes, sir, Ah promise, scout's honor, cross mah heart and hope t' die! Ah mean, Ah know Ah could've just knocked but Ah wasn't sure…"

Jean-Paul interrupts me again before I can start to blabber.

"Anna… no more explanations. Just grab your files and go." Jean-Paul orders, but in a friendly manner. I do just as he says, and just before I'm out the door, I apologize once more. "Ah'm _really _sorry!" Out the door I go; however, not one to learn from my mistakes, I linger for a few more moments. I can already hear Remy's deep chuckling.

"She's quite a something, ain't she?" I hear him ask Jean-Paul. I still can't help feeling surprised. I thought he would've laughed at my faux pas, maybe even shared a private joke with Jean-Paul about how moronic I am. But contrary to expectations, he says: "I don't care what Monet says, JP – dat dere is one classy lady."

Amazing. The Cajun is sticking up for me again.

_Why Remy LeBeau, who would've ever thought it of yah_, I think, _Ah guess yah really do have a sense of honor somewhere inside that non-existent brain of yours._

Strangely, as I walk back to my cubicle, I find myself suddenly beaming from ear to ear.

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	9. Boys & Girls

**Disclaimer:** Marvel's characters, not ours (barring Carlos, he's ours).

**A/N:** Yeah, we know, another late update, but here's an extra long chapter just to satisfy those of you who've been hankering for more Mix 'n' Match. The next chapter should be coming soon with some new surprises, so all you Romy fans better watch out for some hot 'n' spicy Cajun action, heh heh... ;) And thanks for all the super-duper cool comments, from you super-cool guys... This story's totally for the fans, so we always get a kick when we know you love it. :D Until next time...

_Ludi x_

-oOo-**

* * *

Mix 'n' Match **

**(9) Boys and Girls**

I'm in the elevator, along with what seems to be enough people to populate a small European country.

We stop at the 29th floor and some more people manage to squeeze themselves in. Everyone groans. We all just want to get home with the least fuss possible, and this isn't helping at all. How come there are so many people gathered in one lift? It isn't usually like this.

I find myself being squashed up against someone and quickly mumble my apologies. The doors shut and the elevator begins to go down again. Silence reigns once more.

I have nothing to do for the remainder of the journey but contemplate the shirt of the man I'm pressed against. Not that there's much to see. It's white and silky. And smells of a familiar, spicy aftershave.

It's then that I realize that the man I'm pressed up so intimately against is Remy LeBeau.

I shut my mouth and pretend I don't have a clue.

We stop at floor 25. More people try to push in. "There's no more room!" someone hollers from the back. Someone else yells back that the second elevator isn't working. More grumbling as some more people miraculously manage to squeeze in. I find myself pressed up against Remy just about as close as I can be. My cheeks begin to blaze as the elevator finally starts to descend again. Twenty-five floors between me and freedom. I silently pray for the damned lift to hurry up.

We're pressed so close together it could almost be considered X-rated. I stand there and try to think about my lunch, but as I feel the contours of his hard body against mine all I can think about are those gorgeous pecs… and of how I'd rip that shirt of his right off and run my hands all over that finely sculpted male body of his…

I find myself not even attempting to deny the thought anymore. Between the first and twenty-fifth floors I occupy myself by fantasizing about him and me. Doing it in an elevator. Minus all these people, naturally. Unless he's an exhibitionist, of course… Hmm – I wonder if he's an exhibitionist?

I find it's a lot easier to indulge in my little reverie rather than try to push it away. Before I know it we've got to the first floor and the doors swish open. I'm almost disappointed.

People begin to flood out around us and we both break apart almost reluctantly. I finally pluck up the courage to look up at him.

"Sorry," I find myself apologizing sheepishly. I'm still blushing like mad. He smiles his usual, complacent, cocky grin and says: "No problem, chere." _I enjoyed it just as much as you did._

I turn and run before I let my body have a chance to carry through the lewd thoughts currently floating round my mind.

-oOo-

It was evening and the Braddock Manor was filled with a plethora of wealthy and distinguished guests. The great hall had been laid out with various dishes and refreshments and space made for the parquet dance floor. In the background, a string quartet was playing an elegant waltz. Betsy, dressed in a red silk Gucci sheath dress, wandered in and out of the milling crowds, exchanging pleasantries with the guests. Professor Braddock was deep in some scientific conversation with a colleague, Jamie was being congratulated by some rich bankers, Brian and Meggan were talking to some personal friends and Elisabeth Sr. was nowhere to be seen. Betsy quickly scanned the room as she wove in and out of the flocks of people, making sure her mother was still out of sight. Amazingly, she'd managed to keep out of her mother's way since she'd arrived home, and she was determined to keep it that way.

Betsy sighed with relief as she got to the other end of the room. Avoiding her mother was really dampening her enjoyment of the party. Picking up a wineglass from the refreshments table, she ensconced herself firmly in a corner and watched the goings-on from the sidelines. It worried her that she hadn't seen her mother ever since her father had introduced his family to the guests. Somehow she'd lost sight of her since then.

All of sudden, Elisabeth Sr. came into sight, plowing through the crowds towards Betsy like a woman on a mission. Betsy began to panic. Unfortunately she was in the corner and there wasn't much of a chance to escape. Just as she was about resign herself to her mother's rants, someone moved forward from the crowd and stopped Elisabeth Sr. in her tracks, no doubt wanting to congratulate her on the success of the party so far.

Betsy took the opportunity and ran.

The nearest haven of safety was one of the nearby balconies. Betsy slipped inside quickly, hoping she'd given her mother the slip. In her haste, as she turned the corner she crashed into somebody's chest.

"Oh I'm so sorry…!" she found herself babbling as she took a step back.

"No, I'm sorry." The voice was male, the accent American and friendly. Betsy brushed down her gown hastily.

"No, it was my fault," Betsy insisted "I should've been looking where I was going."

Until that moment she'd refused to look up out of embarrassment, but as she finally raised her head she found herself looking into a pair of beautiful, warm blue eyes. Momentarily shocked, she could barely get any further words out.

"Oh…I… Uh…I had no idea that there was someone out here," she blurted out without thinking.

"No need to apologize," he assured her softly, steadying her by grasping her lightly by the elbows. "It was just an accident."

Betsy said nothing, feeling a thrill shudder through her skin where he touched her. The feeling confused her, and she would have broken away at once had it not been for the sound of high-heels marching in her direction. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she saw her mother's silhouette advancing. Her embarrassment thrown out of the window, Betsy pushed the handsome stranger further into the relative darkness of the balcony.

"Uh…I, uh, was wondering if you'd like to, uh, dance?" she spat out, hoping she was now well out of her mother's line of sight.

"Here?" He was surprised.

"Please?" she asked desperately. Her would-be rescuer looked confused, but seeing she was in earnest, he obliged her.

"If you insist," he replied charmingly. "I'm never one to say no to a beautiful lady."

Normally Betsy would've been troubled by the light banter, but she was much too flustered to care at the moment. _Please don't let mum see me!_ she silently begged as the man took her left hand in his and wrapped his other arm snugly about her waist. As they began to waltz slowly in time to the music, Betsy kept an eagle-eyed watch on her mother. Elisabeth Sr. passed by the balcony, then stopped. Betsy quickly whirled round so that her dance partner covered her from sight.

"I must say," the man commented after a moment, "that this is a very…interesting way of dancing."

"I'm out of practice," Betsy lied absently. Over the man's shoulder, she could see her mother finally give up and walk away. Her body instantly relaxed and she couldn't help but heave a great sigh of relief. "But I seem to be recalling some of the steps now," she added quickly.

Now that her mother had finally disappeared, Betsy was finally able to get a good look at her unwitting savior. The servants had set up soft, pink lighting on each of the balconies and the soft glow lit up one side of his face, brightening his crystal blue eyes. He was nicer-looking than she'd first thought he was, his boyishly handsome face framed by a thick crop of tousled, golden hair. Despite herself, Betsy stared impolitely, but she just couldn't help it. And he was staring back at her, with an unwavering intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. A warmth involuntarily seeped into the pit of her stomach, sending pleasurable shivers zigzagging through her. She knew she shouldn't be feeling this way, but the emotion was so overwhelming that she couldn't push it away.

"I don't think we've been introduced. You're here on business?" he asked at last in a soft murmur, as if unwilling to break the tranquility of the moment.

"This is my home," she replied with equal softness as they continued to dance. "At least, it used to be."

"You're a Braddock?" he asked, his eyes wide with surprise. She smiled.

"I'm Professor Braddock's daughter. My name's Elisabeth. And you?"

"Worthington. Warren Worthington III," he replied. "My father's an old friend of yours."

"Yes – dad mentioned he and your father attended Oxford together," Betsy nodded.

"That's right." He grinned, the smile lighting up his handsome face. "I understand they haven't seen each other in years though. This is actually the first time I've met Professor Braddock." The conversation suddenly fell silent as they continued to dance, Warren holding her gently against him, his hand warm and soft on her waist. He danced with great ease, his movements natural and fluid, as if he'd been born on the dancefloor. Betsy bit her lip in sudden consternation, but couldn't bring herself to move away. She hated to admit it, but she was enjoying his company far too much – and anyway, she deserved a little fun, since Neal had totally neglected to call her up.

"You okay?" Warren asked after a while, noticing her silence. She looked up and laughed a little.

"Oh no, I'm fine," she assured him. "Just thinking about a call I've been expecting from someone back home."

"Back home?" he queried.

"I'm based in the States," she replied. "The US has been my home since I got into the modeling business four years ago."

"Ah!" he exclaimed, enlightened. "I _thought_ I'd seen your face before. You're Betsy Braddock, the supermodel!" He paused and looked over her figure-hugging red dress with undisguised admiration. "I should've known," he quipped wryly. "A classy look like that could only be pulled off by someone in the fashion business."

"You mean someone who _was_ in the fashion business," she remarked sardonically. "I gave up a few months back."

"Why's that?" he asked, brow furrowed. "From what I can tell, you were at the height of your career. Wasn't the jet-setting high life your kind of scene?"

"Not exactly…" she trailed off, and seeing the reticent look on her face he quickly changed the subject.

"So you still live in the US then? Not thinking of moving back here?" he asked, and Betsy couldn't help but notice the trace of hope in his voice.

"No, no plans to come back here," she answered. "I have people back in New York that… care for me." She had been about to mention Neal, but had quickly refrained, without really knowing the reason why she should be so bothered about it.

"New York?" he repeated. "What a coincidence! That's where I'm based too."

"Oh." Betsy couldn't bring herself to say any more. Her initial euphoria was gradually beginning to fall as she realized how precarious her situation was. She'd purposely neglected to mention Neal to avoid embarrassment, and, she had to admit she hadn't wanted Warren to know. She hoped against hope that he wouldn't ask her for her address or phone number, or suggest that they meet up. On the other hand, a secret part of her was wishing otherwise…

Betsy immediately put all trace of the thought out of her head.

A minute or so passed before the last strains of the music finally came to an end and the two reluctantly came to a standstill. Warren's hand slid from about her waist and he dropped her hand slowly. Betsy held in a breath, her cheeks flushed, feeling both released and disappointed at the loss of his touch. She couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed a dance so much, and frankly, Neal wasn't much good on his feet at all…

"My," she found herself saying on a breath, "you are a very accomplished dancer, Mr. Worthington."

"Please," he returned, "call me Warren." He smiled that smile again, one so warm she felt her insides churn. Just as she was about to give a suitably tongue-tied response and make an utter fool of herself, she heard the familiar voice of her mother calling her from behind.

"There you are, Elisabeth! I've been looking to have a word with you all day! Have you been avoiding me!"

"Of course not, Mum," Betsy replied, while inwardly groaning at her mother's mortifying choice of time to interrupt. "I've just been…mingling with the guests, you know." She turned to Warren. "Mr. Worthington, this is my mother. Mum, this is Warren Worthington III. You know – the son of dad's friend?"

"But of course!" Elisabeth Sr. was suddenly all smiles. "I remember when you were nothing more than a little boy, playing in the paddling pool with our Brian in the summer!" Warren looked embarrassed and Betsy stifled a giggle. At least she wasn't the only one to suffer at the hands of her mother's humiliating anecdotes. "Hasn't your father accompanied you?" Mrs. Braddock asked of Warren.

"Father's not been well recently," he replied politely, "So I came instead to represent his interests. It's, uh, nice to be visiting England again."

"Well it's been so long I can't imagine you should remember any of your time here!" Elisabeth Sr. exclaimed. "I always did tell my husband that your father should have visited more regularly, but since Mr. Worthington moved back to New York it was so inconvenient. It was such a shame for Brian when you left… I would've recommended to your mother that you go to boarding school here in Cambridge, but she _would_ insist on sending you to those dreadful Ivy League schools! Their curriculums are so unsatisfactory…"

"Mother!" Betsy cried in horror. It wasn't just her imagination – her mother really _had_ become ten times more anal since they'd last met.

"Oh, I would've loved to study here in England," Warren rejoined amiably, sending a discreet wink in Betsy's direction. "But alas, my parents decided I wasn't quite suited to the intense intellectual climate of Oxford or Cambridge. Though I'm sure both James and Brian could've done far better than I…"

"Oh nonsense!" Mrs. Braddock scoffed. "You were always such a bright young lad! I always maintain that every young man of your stature should have the best education he can get!"

By now Betsy was frantic as she was sure her mother wouldn't stop prattling on at poor Warren until she said something really humiliating. Luckily, as she was just about to cut in and face the certainty of her mother's wrath, her father called over and saved them all.

"Elisabeth, darling, you're wanted! Mrs. Jessop has been asking for you the entire evening!"

Mrs. Braddock hurriedly excused herself and Betsy was amused to see her dad grin and wink in her direction. Betsy gave a sigh of relief and gave him a silent thumbs up.

"Well thank goodness for that!" she exhaled.

"Your mother seems rather nice," Warren commented good-naturedly.

"Now I know you're kidding!" Betsy exclaimed.

"Oh, I don't know. She could be a lot worse." He shrugged humorously. "My mother's always complaining about how I turned out too. I think that's what they're there for." He indicated casually back towards the hall. "Perhaps we should go and have a drink…maybe dance some more?"

Betsy hesitated a moment, then looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

-xXx-

The amount of trash on my kitchen table has now got to such a level that I've been forced to clean it up. I sigh and begin to sift through the old letters, magazines and catalogs on the table. I never used to be like this, but somehow, over the past few years, my usual acceptable level of cleanliness has dropped to an all-time low. It's when I get to the bottom of the junk that I find that envelope again. The one from Caldecott General Hospital that I'd hastily left there the other day.

Up until that moment, my mind had been consumed with the incident in the elevator that morning. I can't help thinking that Remy could've taken the opportunity to cop himself a grope, or rubbed up against me, or some other such perverted act. But he hadn't. He hadn't even so much as put an arm round me. He hadn't even made some dirty remark once we'd got the first floor. In fact, he'd behaved entirely decently, which left me feeling odd – considering I'd actually kinda enjoyed it.

But now everything's forgotten when I clap my eyes on that familiar old envelope. My throat constricts and my breathing comes hard. Without thinking, I grab at the piece of paper, rip it up into shreds, and throw it into the wastebasket. Then I decide to take my mind completely off the whole thing. I decide to tackle the problem of my sink, which had broken – again.

Ten minutes later, Jean arrives and lets herself in.

"Don't tell me you _still_ haven't got that fixed!" she exclaims.

"Ah already fixed it once mahself," I explain morosely. "Only the darn thing went an' broke again."

Jean half-laughs. "Sounds like you just need to call in the plumber, girl."

"Figured Ah could save mahself the money," I sigh, giving up and putting down the plunger. "So where were you the other night? Ah rang up t' see if you'd like to go out but yah weren't in."

"I was…uh… occupied," Jean replies quickly. Her cheeks begin to redden, and my mind immediately leaps in suspicion.

"Uh-huh?" I cross my arms skeptically. "You sure yah weren't just pining over Scott?"

Jean turns her face away slightly, hiding her expression from me. "Of course not. I was just out that night." Hmm – now I'm _definitely_ convinced something fishy's going on.

"Ahhhh." I grin sarcastically. "When the cat's away, the mice will play."

"Shut up," Jean frowns in annoyance. "You know I'd never do anything behind Scott's back!"

"Hey!" I put on a hurt countenance. "Ah was only kiddin', Jeannie. Ah know practically nothin' could break you or Scott apart." The sentence only serves to bring my mind back to more depressing matters. Sighing again, I go back to unplugging the sink. "Some gals have all the luck," I mutter.

Jean purses up her lips as if disapproving of the phrase. "Oh, come on, Rogue," she says cheerfully – though her tone is forced. "You put yourself down _way _too much. My life is by no means perfect. Besides, why be so negative? I promise you you'll find Mr. Right if only you believe it. With your kind of attitude, you'll probably meet him and never know it!"

I stop my work, my mind involuntarily going back over the incident in the elevator that morning. "Maybe…" _Maybe?_ What the hell am I saying? I know it can't _possibly_ be true…

Jean immediately pounces.

"What? Rogue, what do you mean 'maybe'? Could it be you've actually _met_ someone!"

I grimace. "Ah meant nothin'," I reply firmly.

"Rogue, I _know_ that look, so don't tell me you mean otherwise," Jean leans in conversationally and says: "So, who is he?"

"Jean," I put down my tools and give her the most severe look I can manage, "sorry to disappoint you, but for once your intuition is all wrong. This guy is _not_ what yah think he is."

"Ohhh, so it _is_ a guy," Jean grins. "I knew it!"

"Jean…!" I begin warningly, but she interrupts before I can say anymore.

"Rogue since when have you been all flustered about a man you're not involved with?" she reasoned, half in sincerity, half in humor. "Either you're madly in-love with this guy or he must be some devil in disguise sent to torment you for the rest of your days."

"Definitely the latter," I mumble, as I give up on the sink and go to put the kettle on.

"That bad?" Jean asks, a little more seriously. "What is he, some kind of office bully? I thought you always gave back as good as you got…"

"Ah sure do," I smirk. "Only trouble is, so does he."

"So it really is a case of the irrepressible meets the irresistible, huh?" Jean grimaces and folds her arms. "Rogue, dear, can't you last two weeks in a new job without getting into trouble?"

"Hey, don't push it, Ms. Perfect," I level at her, jabbing a teaspoon in her chest as I dole out the coffee. "For your information, it ain't the kinda trouble you're thinkin'."

"Well, I'm sorry," Jean huffs. "So he isn't Mr. Right, and he isn't the office bully, so forgive me if I'm having trouble working out what this deep, dark mystery actually _is_."

"Okay, okay!" I explode. "His name's Remy LeBeau and he's the most insufferable prick Ah've ever met! Not to mention he's gorgeous, delicious, irresistible and sexy…" I stop myself before I get lost in all the qualities that make Remy LeBeau so attractive – and so goddamn full of himself. If I keep on going on I won't be able to stop. "But that's what makes it worse!" I add. "He harasses me and thinks he can get away with it! And when Ah tell him where t' stick it, he just keeps on an' on comin' back for more!" I detail all the instances he's sassed me, while I pour the coffee violently, almost scalding myself in the process. "Ah would've thought he would've found some other office floozy to chase after," I conclude miserably, "but it's almost as if he's determined to lay those slimy paws of his on me."

"So what's the problem?" Jean asks, receiving her cup of coffee. "If he's really as bad as you make out he is, complain to Mr. Beaubier and have him fired."

"Ah thought about it," I brood in a low voice, after a moment. "But… Oh, Ah dunno… Ah keep on thinkin' maybe he ain't _that_ bad…"

"Rogue," Jean glances at me with narrowed eyes, "from what you've been telling me, he sounds like he _is_ the devil in disguise. Why _shouldn't_ you report him?"

Incredibly, I find myself beginning to stick up for the sleazy Cajun.

"Well," I begin doubtfully, "he did say some nice things about me at this boardmeetin'. And this mornin'…" I blush when I think about it, something I'm _not_ proud of, "…we got stuck in the elevator, an' we were really close, Ah mean _really_ close, and he didn't try anythin', y'know… In fact he was pretty much a perfect gentleman, but Ah knew that he was thinkin'…and that Ah was thinkin'… Oh gosh darn it!" I finish in a splutter, not liking what's going through my head at all, much less that I'd been about to express it in actual words. I turn away quickly to prevent Jean from seeing the color on my face, but it's too late.

"Rogue," she begins slyly, as I begin banging around putting plates away, something I rarely _ever_ do these days, "it sounds to me like you actually kinda _like_ this guy."

"Ah do not!" I practically growl, but Jean always knows my bark is worse than my bite. She can also be pretty persistent.

"There's nothing wrong with it, Rogue," she assures me in a reasonable tone. "So he may be a little rough round the edges, but maybe he's just waiting for someone like you to come along and cure that." She pauses and I stop and turn to her skeptically, surprised to see a slightly wistful look on her face. Odd. I'm really beginning to think she _is_ hiding something from me.

"Rough!" I snort. "The guy's edges are so slippery yah could slide off 'em! In fact, he ain't _got_ no edges!"

Jean begins to lose her temper. "Oh stop being such a misery!" she scolds me. "Do you know what it sounds like to me, Anna Raven? It sounds like you like this guy and you're in denial – big time! So what if he's a player? Doesn't the fact that he still hasn't given up on you mean that he wants more from you than just a quick snog behind the filing cabinet?"

"He only wants meh b'cause Ah keep on givin' him the brush off," I sulk. "If Ah _did_ snog him behind the filing cabinet, he'd be gone faster than a New York minute."

"And then," Jean continues, ignoring my comment, "he's even going to the lengths of praising you when he thinks you're nowhere in sight! Now if that isn't a sign he's into you, I don't know what is!"

"He just doesn't want to admit his ad campaign is gonna suck an' blow 'cos dumb old Anna Raven is spearheadin' it," I grumble. "Everyone thinks Ah got the job because Mr. LeBeau thinks Ah'm an idiot floozy and maybe they're right."

"Oh for God's sake, Rogue!" Jean bursts furiously. "Stop feeling so sorry for yourself! Me and Emma and Betts all know you've had a rough time the past few years, and we've done everything we can to help you through it, but it's time you stopped thinking about yourself as a failure! Look at you! You're young and beautiful and contrary to what you may believe, you have a good brain between those ears and you can use it! Have you ever thought for a moment that maybe you _deserve_ L&L's new ad campaign! Have you ever thought that maybe you _deserve_ a man who treats you _right_ for once! Dammit, Anna, grow up and get a hold of your life for once!"

It's too much to hear. For the first time in months I find myself bursting into tears. I stand there and blubber, crying for everything I'd lost, for the life I'd once had. Jean's shocked. She hasn't seen me crying since those days so long ago when I'd first come to New York to start anew. Her anger vanished, she reaches out and rests my head on her shoulder, gently stroking my hair.

"Oh, Anna," she whispers soothingly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… Look, I know how hard this has been for you, and none of us can even begin to understand what you've been through… It's just that we want you to believe that you've _still_ got something to live for…that you've still got a chance to make good… and we want you to take that chance with all the courage you have… You were always so much stronger than the rest of us…"

"Ah know, Jean," I sniffle, hugging my friend tight. "Ah _was_ back then, but now it's so difficult… It's so much easier t' be the fool everyone thinks Ah am…"

She pulls back, takes me by the shoulders and says severely: "Rogue, you're _not_ a fool. Just because you messed up once doesn't mean the rest of your life is doomed to go the same way. Don't you dare throw anything away again, because we love you and you deserve all the best you can get. Got that?"

I nod slowly, sniff and wipe the tears from my eyes with a shaky hand. _Ah want t' believe yah so much, Jean…_

She gives me a comforting smile.

"Now how about we get out of here and make up for that drink we missed last Friday night, eh?"

She hands me a tissue and I blow my nose ungracefully. "Nah," I shake my head regretfully. "Ah think Ah'll pass up on this one, Jeannie. Ah think… Ah think Ah just need t' be alone for awhile… to sort things out in my head."

"Remy LeBeau?" she asks pointedly. I shake my head and look down at the torn remnants of the letter in my wastebasket.

"Right now he's the least of my worries, Jean. Ah was talkin' about other stuff…"

"Well, if he gives you anymore hassle…"

"Yeah – I'll report him to JP," I sigh.

"You won't," Jean rejoins with a grin and squeezes my shoulder. "Believe me, Rogue, you like the guy. You just don't know it yet."

Even in my tearful state, I manage a pretty convincing snort. "In a pig's eye," I shoot back.

"Just let me know when I'm likely to hear wedding bells, okay?" she teases me playfully, trying to uplift my spirits.

"Ah'm gonna ignore that, Ms. Grey." Instead I lean over and kiss her cheek. "Thanks for talkin' to me, Jeannie. Ah don't know what Ah'd do without yah. Betts and Emma try to understand, but Ah know that they sometimes get frustrated with meh and…"

"They only wants what's best for you," Jean assures me affectionately. "We all do. Just remember – you're a great person and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And if you ever need to talk, please don't bottle it up. I'm here for you."

"Ah know. Thanks."

She gives me another hug, which I return with as much strength as I can. Somehow, I know she's right. I need to get a hold of my life and stop thinking of myself as a failure. I need to face up to both my future and my past.

Easier said than done, gal.

There's still so much I have to think about.

-oOo-

Logan had helped Jean into the cab that Friday night, and paid for the ride as well. As Jean had slid inside the car, she'd felt that the nightclub owner had done more for her than she deserved – she had, after all, got drunk and made a fool of herself, but however much she'd insisted she pay herself he'd refused.

"It's my pleasure," he'd assured her.

"What, a pleasure to help out damsels in distress?" she'd asked wryly as the cab finally stopped outside the _Hideaway_. The last role she'd ever thought herself playing was one of the stricken maiden.

He'd bared a grin at her. "I'll admit, it isn't my usual routine… But I just want t' see y' home safely, is all."

"If it's not your usual routine, then why are you changing it now?" she'd dared to question.

"Lady," he'd explained very seriously, "most girls that come to my place aren't what I'd call 'ladies'. But _you_ are." He'd opened the cab door and gestured for her to go inside. "Now go home an' get some proper rest."

Despite herself she'd smiled coyly at him as she'd slid inside. She really didn't know what made her feel so safe and secure around this man, nor what she found so attractive and welcoming about his rough demeanor. And the way he looked at her… it unnerved her. But not because he leered at her, simply because he was so attentive and kind to her.

When she'd got back home to that mountain of wedding material, something inside her had sunk. She'd felt like she'd just woken up from a surreal dream and entered the real world again. She'd packed away the cloth quickly and gone straight to bed, feeling confused. Things may not have turned out the way she'd intended them to – but she'd kind of enjoyed herself. She'd felt so free to be doing something different, to be meeting new people. And she couldn't help thinking that if that bar-owner had been Scott, he wouldn't even have entertained the idea of leaving her so soon before their wedding…

The next morning she'd decided to put the experience down as just that – another experience, and best forgotten. Yet as soon as she left Rogue's place, she'd jumped into a cab and instead of telling him to head back home, she'd told him to go straight back to the _Hideaway_.

The place wasn't as bustling as it usually was during a weekend, but the atmosphere was still lively, although not rowdy. As she entered, Jean instinctively cast a glance at the bar – but no Logan was there. Jean swallowed hard, feeling like an idiot. Here she was, looking for that hairy little man, her heart racing like a teenager's. This wasn't the way for a practically married woman to behave at all! She thought of Scott and a pang of guilt hit her. She wanted to kick herself for being so childish, for thinking that having a few nights of freedom while her boyfriend was away would solve any of her anxieties or insecurities. She was a grown woman and it was time she behaved like one!

Still, she'd got this far, so she might as well make the most of it…

Feeling glad that Logan wasn't at the bar after all, she went up and ordered herself a drink. Commonsense told her she should have turned around and gone home yet she didn't. Jean sipped her drink with a frown on her face. She felt as disconcerted as a teenager on a guilt trip for having indulged in some forbidden pleasure. She tried telling herself that there was nothing wrong with her getting away from it all and that if Scott chose to call, she had her cell phone with her so it wasn't like she was avoiding him – even if she was slightly annoyed with him. He'd promised he'd phone her but he hadn't; and when she'd attempted to call him instead he'd fobbed her off by saying he was in the middle of a board meeting and couldn't get away. Therefore, she concluded, she didn't really have anything to feel guilty about.

"Drownin' yer sorrows again, Red?"

Jean was surprised to hear that familiar voice again and looking up, she found herself staring straight into Logan's kind blue eyes. Taken by surprise, Jean squirmed with a mixture of expectation and dread. _He _had_ been there after all!_

"Of course not!" she blurted out, not over the shock. "Why should I be drowning my sorrows?"

He shrugged and grinned as he drew a beer for a waiting customer. "You tell me. All I know is, I don't see many ladies comin' up here by themselves twice in a row." He passed the drink to the man standing next to her and handed him his change. "But I ain't complainin', since it's real nice to see you again and all. Just didn't think, after the fiasco Friday night, you'd be wantin' to show your face round here again…"

"Oh please," Jean rolled her eyes. "I'm far too grown up a girl to get embarrassed about something as trivial as that."

He eyed her curiously, another grin breaking onto his face. "Y'know Red, that's what I like about you. Anyone ever tell yah y' got fire in yah?"

She gave a non-committal shrug, remembering that it was something Scott often teased her about. "I have been known to start a few fires now and then, but only when occasion calls for it."

"Sensible too," he remarked. "No point in havin' a temper if y' don't put it to proper use, eh?"

There was a lull in their conversation as Logan poured a few more drinks. Jean watched his movements silently. She suddenly wished Rogue had agreed to come with her – she could've done with the extra back-up. She wasn't quite comfortable being at the center of Logan's attention, though she didn't know why, since he was always perfectly sincere with her. Besides, she could have done with sharing her doubts with Rogue – she knew Anna would've understood her, given the trials she herself had gone through – but somehow she felt reluctant to voice her troubles to her. It wasn't only that Rogue was going through troubles of her own, it also pained her to know that the picture of blissfulness she'd painted to the girls was not entirely true, and she couldn't bear to tell them otherwise. For all they knew she was in control of her life, and that's the way Jean liked it to appear. But ever since the incident on Friday night, she'd realized that her life wasn't the picture perfect thing she'd always thought it was… suddenly, something had awoken in her and she wanted _more_. Yes, that was what was bothering her. But how could she admit such a thing to Rogue? Rogue had always known Jean to be so sensible and secure…

"So," Logan began again after a moment, breaking her train of thought. "What's yer name? Only while 'Red' suits yah, it's kinda one-dimensional, dontcha think?"

She allowed herself to smile. "I'm Jean. Jean Grey."

"Pleased to make yer acquaintance," he held his hand out over the counter and she shook it.

"You too."

"So how d'you make yer livin'? Lemme guess, somethin' that requires dedication and extreme force of nature. You're a lawyer, right?"

Jean laughed. "Not quite. I'm a doctor."

"Doctor, eh?" He grinned. "Now don't you tell me that don't require dedication, or an iron will."

"Those are prerequisites of the job," she returned. "But so's patience. If I lose my temper in theater, I'd be creating a lot of problems."

"Touché," he rejoined with a grimace. "Must be tough, huh? Guess I can understand why you need the chance to wind down now and again. Figured a lady like you'd prefer to drink a glass of chilled white wine on yer sofa, book in hand and tabby cat at her side."

"Now you're just being stereotypical," she laughed. "I like fun as much as the next girl."

"I'm glad to hear it," he replied humorously. "And I never doubted it for a second."

There was another pause as Logan got down to serving some other patrons. Jean sat and swirled around the last few remains of her glass, debating on whether to get another drink or not. She decided not to – it would be foolish to make a repeat of the other night. Just as she'd made up her mind, her cell phone began to ring. Digging it out of her bag, she saw plainly that it was Scott ringing her. She panicked. If she answered the phone, he'd hear the noise going on in the background and immediately question her as to where she was. Then would follow the inevitable third degree about why she was out all by herself, in a low-down nightclub of all places. And Jean just couldn't face that right now.

Without thinking, she switched off her phone and threw it back into her purse without another glance.

"Hey, ya leaving now?" Logan's low voice asked. Jean looked up and saw a hint of anticipation in his eyes. The guilt that would have occurred under any normal circumstances subsided before it barely even had a chance to begin, and she cast a bold grin at Logan.

"Actually, I think I'm going to stay a while. That is if you don't mind chatting to a boring ol' doctor like me," she said.

"Trust me, Red. Nothing about you says 'boring' at all," Logan assured her with a wink.

-xXx-

Emma had considered sending her own representative to tackle Warren Worthington after the debacle with that despicable harlot, Jennifer Walters, but cowering behind someone else had never been her style, so she'd decided to go and confront him herself. After leaving work, she'd driven straight to the Worthington Incorporated building, expecting him to have returned from his so-called business trip, only to find his schedule was running late.

"I'm sorry," he staid-faced Asian secretary informed her. "But Mr. Worthington is still attending to business in England. He should be back tomorrow."

"But we had a meeting scheduled for this evening," Emma protested, her temper growing. "Why was I not informed of this!"

"A message was left with your secretary a few hours ago," Shan replied, looking bored. "Obviously, she didn't relay it to you. Now I apologize, Ms. Frost, but there's really nothing I can do."

Emma gritted her teeth, steam literally pouring from her ears. It didn't help to know that she'd been in such a bad temper earlier on that day that she'd refused to see Jubilee, and thus had evidently missed the message Shan had sent her. But that wasn't the point. The point was, Warren was a big business magnate, a professional, and he should be keeping his appointments when he made them. After all, much as Emma disliked the arrogant bastard, she always extended him that courtesy, so why couldn't he?

"This really is highly unprofessional of Mr. Worthington," she seethed at his secretary. "And you can warn him that if he doesn't start playing ball fairly soon, he can forget about a merger with Frost Industries. He may think it's amusing to play these little games with me, but I can assure you that I'm not laughing, and if he continues this childish behavior _he's_ the one who's going to lose out, not me!"

With a final 'humph', Emma turned on her heel and marched out of the building. Just wait until that pompous prick returned! She'd give him a piece of her mind alright – a _very_ big piece of it.

She drove home tired and fuming. What she needed was a nice glass of wine and a massage. Or a nice hot bath with some therapeutic oils. She wondered if she could possibly coax Carlos into giving her a massage before she went to bed, but, she thought with distaste, he really was a hopelessly lazy case and would probably be watching soccer on the TV and would throw a tantrum if she disturbed him. _Silly boy_, she thought with a sigh.

She drew up into the driveway and saw Bobby still laboring away in the garden. She was surprised to still see him there so late in the day. After all, she'd only asked him to look after the pond, and here he was, trimming the borders of her vast lawn!

She got out of the car and locked the doors.

"Bobby, it's getting dark."

He looked up from his work and gave her one of his endlessly cute and appealing smiles. "Just finishing up, Ms. Frost… I mean, Emma. I'll be out of your hair in a minute. Besides, the lawn needed doing and it's no problem at all…kinda fun actually…"

"Oh I get it," she remarked. "You want a raise, don't you."

He looked blank and then blushed. "Hey, now you got it all wrong, Ms. Frost… Not that I wouldn't like a raise, of course, but taking care of the pond is hardly any work at all, and in the winter there's so many dead branches to clear out, not to mention all that weeding, and hey, I _am_ your gardener, so I have to do my job, right? And besides, I thought I could help you out…"

"Bobby," she interrupted him, feeling a smile begin to play across her face as he blathered, "it's okay. You're doing a great job. I'm pleased with your work. Maybe when you come round on Wednesday, we can talk about getting you a raise, okay?"

She didn't think it was possible his smile could've grown wider, but it did. "Really? Thanks, Ms. Frost, you're the best!"

"Don't mention it," she grinned, and turned back towards the house. Having spoken to him, she felt a lot calmer already. She didn't know why he had that kind of affect on her – obviously he was a clown and his sunny nature could cheer anyone up… But to her he was more than that. He accepted her for who she was and didn't put on an act round her. He was just himself, when most guys felt that had to be someone else for her.

Emma sighed and dumped her purse and keys on the hallway table.

"Kristin!" she called out loud as she took her coat off and then her heels. "Kristin, could you run me a bath! And get out some of those oils too! I think I'll have an early night tonight!"

There was no answer. Emma was confused. _Where is that cretinous maid,_ she thought, _gone home early! Looks like I'll have to run that bath myself!_

As she trudged wearily up the stairs, she heard a distinctly female giggle sounding from the direction of the bathroom. Emma paused on the steps, her brow furrowing in bewilderment. _That doesn't sound like Kristin_, she thought, _what the hell is going on?_

As she got onto the landing the giggle sounded again, this time louder. It was an empty, airhead giggle in a voice she didn't recognize. _Someone's taking a bath in my house!_ she fumed to herself. _If Kristin thinks she can bring her friends round to take advantage of me then she's got another thing…_

Emma threw open the bathroom door, all ready with her usual trademark curses, only to find the wind taken out of her as she surveyed the scene before her. It wasn't Kristin, and it certainly wasn't a friend. There in the bath, framed by romantic candlelight and drinking _her_ best bottle of vintage wine no less, was a blonde-haired bimbo, absolutely stark naked. And sitting in the lap of Emma's handsome fitness instructor, Carlos.

For the first time in her life, Emma couldn't get any words out. No sharp remark, no stinging comeback. She simply stood there, mouth and eyes wide open with utter shock. She should've been ranting and raving and throwing things. But she just couldn't. Not only had she been betrayed, but also in the cruelest way possible – the two of them had been doing it, right here in her house, taking advantage of her hospitality. They'd humiliated her. And for the first time, someone had cut through the impermeable diamond skin that Emma had seemed to build up around herself. For the first time, she didn't only suffer from a wounded sense of pride, but also a wounded heart. It was almost more than she could bear. Almost.

"Emma!" Carlos managed to exclaim. "But…I thought you had a meeting!"

The silence broken, Emma finally found her voice.

"Oh, so that made it okay, did it?" she retorted in a strange, strangled voice. "You thought I was away, so it's alright for you to cheat on me? In _my_ house!"

Knowing a confrontation was imminent, the girl had the sense to exit sharpish. Without a second thought she jumped out of the bath and ran butt-naked back to the bedroom to put her clothes on.

"Yes, that's right!" Emma roared after her. "Get the fuck outta my house! And don't you dare bring your good-for-nothing ass over my doorstep again, you hear me!"

"Emma," Carlos had got out of the bath and was wrapping a towel round him, his tone conciliatory. "Emma, look, I swear she means nothing to me… I explain this, no?"

Emma turned back to him as the girl scampered out of the house, scared at Emma's outburst. "You're sorely mistaken if you think I give a flying toss about your idiot explanations, Carlos!" she exploded, her eyes livid with rage, her cheeks hot with anger and humiliation. "I should've known you were no good from the start, the way you always leeched off me! So it was fine for you to hang out in my house, to drink my wine and eat my food, to hang out in my swimming pool and get an easy lay out of me – wasn't it enough! Why did you have to go and add insult to injury by bringing that…that _whore_ into my house!"

"Emma…_babe_… Carlos promises you that that girl means nothing to him," he insisted wildly. "He only cares about _you_!" He reached out to touch her comfortingly, but she batted his hand away violently, surprised to find her eyes swimming in spite of herself. Emma Frost _never_ cried!

"Get your dirty hands off me!" she raged at him. "You never cared about me, you only cared about my money and what I could offer you in bed! I was a fool for letting you take advantage of me, but this is the last straw! You think you can get away with humiliating me like this, you're wrong. You are fired and I want you out of my house now!"

He began to flounder as he realized the seriousness of what she was suggesting to him.

"But Emma… think of all the good times we've had… We were good together, no? You give Carlos a second chance, I promise you he'll…"

Whatever he would've promised her, Emma would never find out – nor did she want to. With one resounding smack she'd slapped him across the face, cutting off whatever he would've said.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!" she roared. To Carlos' amazement and fear, she picked up his razor from beside the sink and began to brandish it wildly in the air as she came towards him, screaming threats of, amongst other things, relieving him of that useless dick of his. Faced with such dire portents, Carlos did the only thing he could. He ran. And seeing as an insensate Emma chased him all the way out, he didn't have time to even look for his clothes, let alone put them on, so he ran out onto the road, naked but for his towel, Emma and razor in hot pursuit.

"And if you ever come back, I'll make sure you and your hoe never get to have any fun again!" she bellowed as he finally ran out of sight. Bobby, who was standing nearby as he was packing away for the night, could only stand by in utter shock at the spectacle of a half-screaming, half-crying Emma and the half-naked Carlos running out of her life forever.

Emma barely noticed he was there. Tears were now freely flowing from her eyes, but they were tears of rage just as much as ones of humiliation and sorrow. Carlos gone, she had no one left to wreak her fury on. With a high-pitched shriek of frustration she dashed the razor onto the driveway where it smashed into a hundred pieces. Truly aghast to see this strong woman beside herself, Bobby dropped his tools and ran over to comfort her.

"Ms. Frost, are you alright?" he asked, putting a soothing hand on her shoulder. For the first time she seemed to notice he was there and her face twisted in horror. Now there was someone who'd watched the whole sorry saga, who'd actually _seen her crying_. Her shame had just increased to an even more unbearable level.

"No, I'm not fucking alright!" she yelled at him, shaking his hand away. She knew she looked a sight, with her hair disheveled and her mascara running, but she was too angry to care anymore. "I just found my boyfriend in a compromising position with some air-head bimbo, drinking _my_ wine and fucking about in _my_ bath, how do you _think_ I fucking feel!"

Bobby was silent for a moment as he put his hand back on her shoulder, and this time she didn't push him away.

"That guy was your _boyfriend_?" he asked her seriously. She looked up into his face and saw pity there for her. _Pity_. Something Emma had always hated, and yet she somehow knew she deserved. Because what was there not to pity, when she'd thought she could find love and happiness with a string of idiot boyfriends who treated her like dirt? She'd been a fool, thinking she could play with fire and not get burnt. She was the one who'd chosen Carlos, she was the one who'd invited him into her house and let him get away with the disrespect he showed her. That's why he pitied her. And she couldn't bear to have him think of her that way.

Burying her head in her hands, Emma began to cry, and this time she didn't care who saw it. All the humiliation and the pain – she'd asked for it.

Bobby said nothing, knowing she really was in despair. If he was surprised to see her ice-cold facade crumble, he didn't show it. Instead he simply put an arm round her shoulder, and Emma had never been so grateful in her life to feel someone being kind to her.

"Come on," he said softly. "Let's go inside, eh?"

Through her tears, Emma nodded. Slowly the two of them made their way back into the house, and shut the door behind them.

-oOo-

_To be continued..._


	10. Stolen Kisses

**Disclaimer: **Characters are copyrighted to Marvel.

**A/N:** You guys kick ass! So here's a little treat. Read, review and enjoy ! ;)

-oOo-

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**Mix 'n' Match **

**(10) Stolen Kisses**

It was nearing the end of the evening at the Annual Braddock Gala and for the first time since her arrival in England Betsy truly felt at home. She and Warren had been practically glued to each other's sides the entire night, dancing and chatting until the early hours. She'd found herself becoming warmer and warmer to him as the night progressed. Now, as they stood aside exhausted from the dancing, they'd finally got a chance to really get to know one another.

"Forgive me for saying this," he said, still trying to catch his breath from a rather energetic dance of tango, "but you seem rather preoccupied tonight, Betsy."

"I'm just nervous about my mother, is all," she half-lied. "She can be such a handful, and I've been ear-marked for a lecture ever since…"

"Ever since?" he pressed her.

"Ever since I gave up modeling," she confessed.

"That's one thing I don't understand," he replied, puzzled. "You had such a great career. Why give it up?"

"Well," Betsy began reluctantly, "I have a…friend… who got me interested in the environment. I didn't know until I met…this person… that it was something I really felt passionately about. So much of the fashion industry is incompatible with my beliefs, Warren. Quitting was like standing up for what I believed in."

"I see," he replied. "So what are you doing now?"

She blushed. "Nothing, actually. That's why mother's so angry with me right now."

"Not to worry." He patted her hand comfortingly, "I'm sure something will come along."

"You think I'm selfish, don't you," she muttered.

"Not at all," he smiled broadly. "I admire you for having your convictions. I just wish… there was some way of reconciling your love of the environment with your obvious talent with fashion."

"If you think of a way, tell me," she returned wryly.

"I will do," he grinned. "Listen, I'm feeling kinda peckish. You mind if I just go grab some snacks from the refreshments table?"

"Not at all."

He left and after 5 minutes of waiting he still hadn't come back. Betsy's eyes wandered over at the refreshment's table to find him talking to some blonde-haired, teenage waitress. Her heart sunk. So he really _had_ thought she was selfish. She couldn't really blame him either. Here she was, wasting her talent and leeching off her family's money. Feeling crestfallen, she'd been about to walk away when someone had tapped her back from behind. For a second she'd feared it was her mom but when she turned she'd found herself faced with an old friend.

"Hank McCoy!" she gasped.

The handsome, well-built, brown-haired ex-soccer-superstar gaped as she smothered him in her embrace.

"It's nice to see you too Betsy."

The two had been school friends and hadn't met since leaving high school.

"My God, Hank, how good it is to see you!"

"You too, my dear Betsy," he enthused, pulling back to get a good look at her. "My, my – forgive me for quoting the proverbial phrase, but you've grown into a _very_ beautiful young woman."

"Don't be silly!" She slapped his arm playfully. "You're the one who's grown! Look at the size of those biceps! Are you still playing football?"

"Now and then. Actually, I'm now working as your father's assistant in the labs. That's why I'm here, though admittedly, I am a little late." He looked sheepish. Betsy nodded.

"Yes, dad told me you were promoted to Head Assistant, he had a few _very _good words to say about you." She squeezed his arm again affectionately. "I _also_ heard you were dating that American media mogul – oh, what's her name – Trish Tilby?"

"The very one." She didn't think his beam could get any bigger. "We're exceedingly happy together, even if I do say so myself. And you? I can't imagine that someone as delectable as yourself could possibly be unattached," he half joked in his usual flowery language. Betsy frowned to herself. Hank certainly hadn't heard about her leaving her modeling career because of her relationship with Neal, and she was reluctant to explain it to him.

"Well, there _is_ someone," she replied evasively, "but I'm not sure just how serious things are right now…"

What was the matter with her? She'd _never_ been unsure about Neal, and here she was saying all this. She cast a glance over Hank's shoulder, looking in vain for Warren. There he was, still at the table, chatting happily away with that blonde girl. Hank caught her looking and turned round slightly, following her gaze.

"Ah," he began. "I take it that's the lucky man in question?"

"Uh – no," Betsy replied quickly. "He's just… an acquaintance I made this evening." She paused, then asked in a quieter voice: "Do you know who that girl is?"

Hank turned subtly again, lifting his glasses to get a better look. "Her? That's Paige Guthrie. American girl, from Kentucky. I think your parents have employed her as an au pair for a couple of months." He turned back to her. "I do believe the man she's with is Warren Worthington III, right?"

"Yes," Betsy nodded. "Did she… mention Warren at all to you, Hank?"

He gave her a curious look. "Well, when I came in she was asking me who he was. Kept on pumping me for information, you know, the usual stuff… Who is he, what does he do…Is he single…?" His smile was wry. "I think she likes him."

"I think he likes her too," Betsy muttered a little more crossly than she'd meant.

"Why, Betsy," Hank grinned wickedly. "Do I detect a little bit of the old green-eyed monster there?"

Betsy shook herself. "Of course not!" she retorted with mock indignation. "You _know_ I only have eyes for you, Hank McCoy!"

"I know, I know!" he sighed, feigning vexation. "I hear the same thing from girls the whole world over! They just can't leave me alone!"

She giggled. It had been a long-standing joke during their school days that Betsy had had a big crush on the handsome young Henry McCoy, which had remained unrequited since Hank had been much more enamored with both sports and science. Nevertheless they had remained good friends and Betsy instinctively knew there were no hard feelings.

"You _are_ a darling," she exclaimed, giving him a fond hug and a kiss on the cheek. At that very moment Warren just happened to turn around and for a second their gazes met. Then he turned back to Paige, a small frown on his face. Betsy hadn't meant for him to see her display of affection, but considering the circumstances, and since she was just a little cross with him for leaving her stranded, she was glad he'd seen after all. She pulled back a bit and gave Hank a beaming smile. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you again, Hank. There's so much we have to catch up on! What do you say we get some punch and go to some quiet spot where we can talk?"

"Ah!" Hank rubbed his hands with relish. "How well you know me and my penchant for a good old confabulation!"

She snorted inelegantly as they made their way to refreshments table. "Don't you mean gossip?"

"Nothing but," he grinned. "Did you know Lucas Bishop from 9th grade is together with _Tessa Niles_ of all people!"

"What!" she exclaimed. "You mean they _finally_ got together! I thought we'd _never_ see the day! Those two just seemed… I don't know… So _sexless!_"

They'd reached the punch bowl and Betsy found herself standing right next to Warren, who she managed to ignore with an effort.

"Well, you know what they say about the mysterious, intense ones," Hank remarked merrily as he poured punch for the both of them, "They're _always_ the ones you should watch out for."

"As usual, Hank, you are _so_ right," Betsy agreed, not seeing Warren's eyes following her with a disappointed gaze as she and Hank disappeared into a corner.

-oOo-

Meanwhile, Bobby was peeking cautiously over the kitchen counter and into the lounge where Emma was sitting, dejected, dabbing an elegant silk hanky at her eyelids. He knew she was feeling embarrassed, and had left her to make some tea while he gave her the chance to make herself more presentable. She was an excessively proud woman and it upset him to see her in this state – but he couldn't really pity her, because much as he admired her, he knew she was partly to blame for this latest fiasco. Carlos had been milking her for ages and she'd simply allowed it to carry on.

He poured some milk into her tea and added the sprinkle of sugar he knew she liked. He felt a little uncertain how to act. Seeing her now, his illusions about Emma had vanished. Now he saw her for what she was – not the untouchable ice maiden he'd thought her to be, but a normal, flawed human being. Nevertheless, if anything, it made him like her all the more. It gave him hope that there _was_ a warm heart beating somewhere in that icy exterior. And he had to admit – he did prefer this much-chastened Emma a lot better than the arrogant one.

"Here's your tea, Ms. Frost," he said, walking up to her and handing her the teacup. She took it gratefully as he sat down on the sofa beside her, floundering for words. The gap between them had closed a little – but only so much. What on earth was a low-life student like him supposed to say to her?

_C'mon, Bobby, stop laying into yourself all the time! If she can hang around with a loser like Carlos then your opinion's definitely got to be worth something to her…_

"Feeling better now?" he finally blurted. She nodded, sniffed, and managed a watery smile through an uncharacteristically sheepish expression.

"Yes, thank you. Look, Bobby, I'm sorry you had to witness all that… It really was a most disgusting affair and it was irresponsible of me to lose it in front of my staff…"

"Emma," he interjected reassuringly, "it's okay. I don't think any less of you for getting mad. In fact, the guy deserved it." He shrugged and smiled humorously. "Come on, we're all human, right? I would've done the same if I was in your place."

"But forcing you to take care of me like this when you should be home…" she protested.

"Not another word!" he insisted good-naturedly. "I may be your gardener, Ms. Frost, but I'd like to think we're friends too. And what are friends for, huh?"

She blinked in surprise at him, then looked down into her teacup, a somewhat dazzled look on her face. "You really are a piece of work, you know that Bobby Drake?" she stated in a low voice.

"That's what all the girls say," he grinned. She gave a slight smile, then sighed.

"Still, I really would've preferred you _not_ to have seen the scene I made out there. It's just that…"

"You don't like me seeing you look out of control?" he offered. She stared at him sharply, amazed. Was he some kind of mind reader now or something? Knowing her thoughts, he nodded. "You know, Emma, you shouldn't be afraid to be a little _human_ now and then. We all have faults. This ice queen act you're always putting on…maybe it works in the business world, but it isn't something you have to take home with you. You aren't as hard-hearted as you make out to be. People won't think any less of you if you open up a little, even if it does make you have to act out of control sometimes."

Emma looked back into her cup, chewing her lower lip as she ruminated over his words. He was half-glad she hadn't bitten his head off yet, but somehow he knew she was feeling too dispirited to be sharp with him.

"You don't understand, Bobby," she sighed. "I really don't think it _is_ an act anymore… It's just the way I learnt to cope with life when I was younger… It was the only way I could make _something_ of myself in this world, and now that I _am_ something I just can't get rid of it."

"You're something to _me_," he assured her softly, automatically. She looked up at him again, those big blue eyes of her questioning as they gazed into his. _God, she really is gorgeous, _he thought… "What I mean is," he hastened to add, flushing a little, "that you mean something to me and to _all_ your friends, so there's no need to think you have to pretend to be something else, okay? 'Cos who really cares what the outside world thinks? It's your friends that matter, right?"

_Dammit,_ he groaned,_ why do I always have to open that big mouth of mine!_

But she was smiling. It wasn't big or sunny, but it was enough to make him wish that she'd smile more often. The way it lit up her face…

"Thanks, Bobby," she said, "I don't know what I'd do without you. You wouldn't believe it but… you've been a rock to me ever since you came here."

"Like you needed one," he half joked. "You're so thick-skinned I'm amazed anyone could hurt you. Anyone would've thought you had diamond skin or something!"

"Well, my 'diamond skin' didn't work today, did it," she muttered, hanging her head again.

"Hey," Bobby leaned in towards her comfortingly. "Don't be hard on yourself. It's over now. Just be the same old Emma Frost you usually are, pick yourself up and move on, forget all about that loser."

"I deserved everything I got," she mumbled disagreeably.

"Yes, you did," he nodded, his tone serious. He knew she'd be surprised that he'd had the guts to say so, but when she didn't berate him he was heartened. "Listen Emma, you're a great woman. You're rich and clever and beautiful. You could have _any_ man you wanted – you really have _no_ excuse for not picking a nice, decent man who treats you_ right_ for once."

"What, you mean a man like you?" she joked, passing him a sly grin. He was glad to see something of the old Emma back.

"Well, if you put it that way…" he smirked back at her smugly. "But I'm being serious though – you deserve no less. I can't believe you settled for a loser like Carlos!"

"Me neither, believe me," she murmured. "To be honest, Bobby, I'm a little scared of a proper relationship." She paused and bit her lip, obviously ashamed to admit it. "I've never treated any man as my equal – how on earth am I supposed to bring a guy into my life and let him see me completely for what I am? I know I'm just human and that I'm not perfect, but I… I just don't think I could _handle _it."

"Then give yourself time," he shrugged. He knew it was an effort for her to say all that she had, and he was astonished at just how much she was letting him in. Not that he was complaining… "You don't have to go straight into a deep relationship with anyone," he continued. "Just a few casual dates here and there, getting to know someone – breaking the ice, so to speak…"

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I didn't know you were such an expert on relationships!"

"Who, me? I don't think so… I_ always_ screw up with girls." He pouted and she laughed lightly.

"I can't imagine why. You really are very sweet, Bobby Drake. I guess I'm lucky to have you around as my relationship counselor."

He grinned, though feeling somewhat disappointed at her statement. It was the same old story – he always ended up being 'just a good friend'. Still, why would Emma of all people want him? He was only her gardener, who'd just happened to pick up her spirits when she'd needed it… Besides, the differences between them were just too great. She deserved some big cheese from some huge corporation, someone who could wine and dine her, who could make her feel as special as she was. Not some lowly gardener…

"Well, I was glad to be of assistance," he replied, getting up quickly and giving a small, theatrical bow. "I guess I'm really earning that raise now, aren't I."

"You most certainly are," she agreed, laughing. It was probably the first time he'd heard her genuinely laugh and he beamed.

"Well, now that I've done my day's work, I should be heading home… I have some studying to do for my midterms next week."

"Alright," she stood up, and he thought he detected a little hint of disappointment on her face… or had he imagined it? "I won't keep you from your studies. You must have enough on your plate without taking care of your battleaxe boss," she added with a wry and self-deprecating smirk.

"Hey now, if battleaxes were as beautiful as you, then I'd agree with you," he winked, then blushed a little at how far he was pushing the line. "Um… I'll just see myself out."

"No, don't be silly," she insisted quickly. "I'll see you out. It's the least I can do."

She opened the door for him and they stood on the threshold for a moment, unsure of how to make their goodbyes. Despite everything, something had changed between them and they instinctively knew that they wouldn't be able to change it back again.

"Thanks again, Bobby," she finally said softly, awkwardly. "You've been… a great friend."

He knew it took a lot for her to admit it and he smiled encouragingly. "Anytime, Ms. Frost. I'll see you again on Wednesday, right?"

"Okay," she nodded. "We'll talk about that raise."

"Awesome."

He turned to go but he'd only got down one step before she stopped him almost as an afterthought.

"Bobby?"

He turned expectantly.

"What?"

She hesitated for just a second before leaning over and pressing her lips lightly against his own. It was only a feather touch of a kiss, but it was more than enough to send his poor heart racing like a Formula One sportscar. The second or two the kiss lasted seemed to last forever and when she finally pulled away he was breathless.

"Goodnight, Bobby," she said quietly, and gently pushed the door shut.

Bobby was left on the doorstep, his breath still caught in his throat, his muscles still frozen in shock before he finally found himself thawing _just _enough to cloud-walk back to his bike and cycle home. Suddenly it seemed as if the clouds had broken and choirs of angels were singing in a glorious shaft of sunlight. Emma Frost had kissed him!

_Wow!_ He thought to himself as he blithely ignored the trail of cars honking violently behind him, so giddy that even if one of those cars decided to run him over he knew he'd die happy. _A few minutes of deep, girly conversation and she's putty in your hands! Drake, you are one smooth operator! Face it – you're da man!_

-xXx-

Even though Logan had been busy with his customers, he and Jean had shared a long conversation throughout the night until she was the only one left and the rest of the bar attendants were closing up. She was surprised to find that she had so much to talk about to someone who seemed so different in stature and lifestyle to herself, but actually, they had a lot in common – temperament, outlooks on life and strength of character. She thought she'd finally worked out what she liked so much about him – he had a passionate and fiery personality that was so much like her own, something that Scott definitely lacked. It wasn't that Scott was boring… It was just that sometimes he could be so staid and responsible, and cutting loose seemed an almost dangerous thing to him. Earlier in their relationship, they'd balanced each other's traits out – he'd kept her calm and in-check, she'd helped him to live a little. But now they seemed so stuck in a rut…

Jean absently checked her cell phone to see if she'd missed any calls from him and had mixed feelings when she saw that he hadn't.

"Shouldn't you be gettin' back?" Logan asked her, looking at his watch. "Wouldn't want t' keep you from bein' able to get up for work tomorrow mornin'."

"It's no problem," she answered, slipping the phone back into her handbag. "I have the day off tomorrow to take care of…"

She cut herself off abruptly, her heart suddenly racing. _To take care of wedding arrangements_. She's almost been about to say it. Well, maybe she _should_ have. It was ridiculous of her to lie to a man she barely knew. Wasn't it?

Yes it was! But she_ still _couldn't do it.

"I have the day off to look after a friend of mine," she finished hastily. "She's sick and doesn't have any relatives out here, so I offered to help her out."

"I see," Logan nodded. "Doctor doing her part for the community, huh?"

"Nah, just being a friend," she shrugged. "We're a pretty close-knit circle of friends, always looking out for each other…"

"I suppose when you're single, it's easier to concentrate on friendships like that…" he said quickly, not looking at her. "Broads are always so damn cliquey when they're single."

"I suppose we are," she nodded. _One lie leads to another…_

"Me, I ain't got no one," he confessed, a little _too_ flippantly. "No real close friends either… Only got myself to concentrate on really."

She was surprised. "But everyone round here respects you…"

"Respect's a whole different ball game to friendship, Red," he commented dourly. "Sometimes y' have to get people to fear you before you gain their respect. And I ain't been nice t' some people round here in my time, if you know what I mean." He paused, seeing her questioning look. "Don't get me wrong. It's not something this Canuck's proud of. But it's just the way I operate, I guess. A lonewolf… don't take no quarter, don't give none."

"But you seem like such a great guy to me," she reasoned, and he raised an eyebrow at her. "Honestly," she assured him, "I don't see anything inherently _bad_ about you at all. You're…nice. At least to me. Why use bully tactics at all?"

"Just the way I am," he returned stiffly, looking away as he cleaned a glass.

"I'm sorry Logan, but I just can't believe it." She shook her head. "And I can't believe you've been alone all your life. You seem perfectly capable of making relationships to me. You don't stutter, you don't make rude remarks, you don't come across as anything but entirely natural, so…" She finished on a shrug.

"Well, there was someone once," he replied, pausing in his work thoughtfully. "But it was a long time ago…"

"It didn't work out?"

"Nope."

"She left you?"

"Nope."

"Then what?"

He paused, his eyes hard before he finally answered. "She died."

Jean was shocked.

"Oh… I'm so, _so_ sorry, I shouldn't have been so insensitive…"

"It's nothing," he replied bluntly. "Like I said, it was a long time ago. Ancient history, darlin'."

There was an awkward silence and Jean kicked herself mentally for being so brusque with him. Of course he'd hate her now… She looked at him, seeing the downturn of his mouth and the furrow in his brow, and she just knew she'd over-stayed her welcome.

"Well… I suppose I'd better be getting back," she voiced at last, shame-faced. "It _is_ rather late…"

"Look, Jean." He laid down the glass and suddenly turned to her seriously, using her real name for the first time. "Really, it was nothin'. I ain't mad at you, okay? I just…hadn't thought about it in a long time, y'know?"

"I'm still sorry," she replied quietly. "I shouldn't have pushed you like that." She grinned half-heartedly at him. "Still, I really should be getting home. My friend will be wanting me kind of early…"

"Okay, I won't keep you." He half-smiled back. "No hard feelin's, eh?"

"Of course not," she scoffed. "Don't be silly! And thanks for another great night, Logan. It's been…nice talking to you."

"You too, Red. You too."

She gave him one last smile before leaving, feeling half guilty and half flustered. She wasn't sure whether it was because she'd allowed herself to get too close to another man, because she'd put her foot right in it, or because she'd been lying so shamelessly. She had to admit – this was a situation that definitely _wasn't_ to her liking.

_From now on, Jean Grey,_ she told herself firmly while in the cab home, _you are not going to set a foot into that club ever again. Full stop, period! It's time you ended these childish fantasies and started acting like the adult woman that you are._

And yet, even though she wasn't quite aware of it herself, her heart panged to know she wouldn't be seeing the man named Logan ever again.

-oOo-

Early the next morning found Betsy being chauffeured by Jeffrey to Heathrow Airport, ready for her journey back to the United States, a morose look on her beautiful features. Despite her disagreements with her mother she felt a little sad to be leaving her family behind again. She did love them all after all, annoying though Elisabeth Sr. and her brother Jamie could sometimes be. On the whole, she'd enjoyed being with them – catching up on gossip with her twin, Brian, and being with her dad again, who always reassured her that he would be proud of her whatever she did.

And then there was Warren Worthington. _He_ was what was really worrying her. The two had been getting on like a house on fire and she'd found herself really warming to him. It hadn't helped not knowing whether she was currently attached or not. Neal _still_ hadn't called her, and he _had_ been really mad with her before she'd left. Did he want to break it up with her or not? Did she really need to have feelings for another man or not?

She sighed and shook her head. It hadn't mattered because Warren was obviously much more interested in that teenage tramp, Paige Guthrie.

_It really is disgusting_, she thought with disapproval. _What on earth could a mature and responsible man like Warren see in an uncultured country hick like that!_

Betsy sighed. It'd only been one night of great dancing, she was better off forgetting it. But when he'd taken her in his arms and tangoed with her, that dance of passion and lust… How could she forget something like that!

After the fond farewells with Jeffery, she'd dragged her luggage into the airport and got ready to check-in at the first-class desk. She'd made sure to leave early so there wouldn't be too much hassle with queues and under-staffed computers, but as she got to the desk she saw that there was already one other person who'd had exactly the same idea as she had. From the back, she could see the familiar longish blond hair, the strong stance and broad back. She almost dropped her bags in surprise when she saw who it was.

"Warren!" she cried.

The man turned round, and when he recognized her, his expression was one of surprise.

"Betsy?"He paused as he looked down at her luggage, calming somewhat. "Looks like we're taking the same flight," he commented.

"Seems so," she muttered, shifting awkwardly on her feet.

"Where's your boyfriend?" he asked rather sourly. "You know, the guy at the gala last night?" he added when she looked blank.

"You mean Hank?" she voiced in surprise. "Hank's not my _boyfriend_. He's just an old schoolmate."

"Oh." He looked a little abashed and was about to say something more when Betsy was conveniently called up to a free check-in desk.

"Well…" she began, thinking she didn't owe him anything, that she didn't even really want to talk to him since he'd made it clear he didn't care much for her at all. "…Bye."

His countenance was a mixture of disappointment and confusion as she whipped round and stalked off.

"Bye," he murmured.

-xXx-

I've made a decision.

I'm going to take Jean's advice and get a hold of my life. No more face-off's with Remy LeBeau. No more putting myself down, no more self-doubt, and definitely no more leaving my apartment in such a mess it looks like a bomb shelter. The past is past, the future lies before me. Anna Raven is now, officially, taking control of her life!

Again.

It's the day after my little tete-a-tete with Jean and I'd gone to work feeling refreshed and confident that I am going to turn over a new leaf. I'm going to be the strong silent type who is firm and capable, but doesn't take any crap from anybody. It's already 4:30 pm and so far so good. I haven't put a foot wrong. I stroll down the corridor, papers in hand, humming merrily to myself. It's almost a good end to what's been an amazingly good day. No embarrassing faux pas, no combustible run-ins with Remy LeBeau. See, all I needed was to believe in myself for a change, just like Jean said.

I walk into the creative team's office to find Peter already at work with various sketches spread out all over the table. To my surprise, Kitty's with him, offering advice.

"Hey Kitty," I greet my new friend. "What's up? Ah thought you were meant to be helpin' Lila sort out Mr. LeBeau's files today."

"I was." Kitty looks up from Peter's work, beaming. "But thanks to Peter here, Mr. LeBeau said I could help out on the team for a trial period."

"Really!" I ask, amazed. "Just what've you been up to, Petey?"

"Nothing really," he smiles rather sheepishly. "Kitty's just wasted on file clerk duties. She's a wizard with computers, so I suggested to Mr. LeBeau that he put her on the campaign's digital editing."

"So now I get to help you and Peter out," Kitty grins.

"Kitty, that's great!" I enthuse, glad to see another ally on my side.

"It sure is," Peter nods, smiling at the small girl sitting next to him. "Kitty and I… we make a great team."

"Ah can see that already," I remark smilingly. I can't help but notice the eyes the two are making at each other. Maybe I should start up a career in matchmaking. Maybe then I could match-make myself.

"So where've you been anyway?" Kitty asks me. "I thought you and Petey were supposed to be working together this afternoon."

"Much as I _lurve_ bein' with the Siberian plough-boy, Kitty," I grin humorously, "Today I had other duties. Ah had to get Tabby Smith workin' on costumes for Ms. Munroe, and literally bully Robert Kelly into changing his hideous color schemes… Ah just don't know how on earth L&L managed to stay afloat all these years when he seems t' think we're still livin' in the 50's…"

"That's because Mr. LeBeau always kept him in check," Peter smiles. "He knows exactly what he wants and if he doesn't like it, he won't have it."

"Ah bet," I reply, a frown creasing my lips. It's not as if I haven't had _personal_ proof of it already. "Speakin' of – Ah really have to get the copies of our storyboardin' down to Mr. Ah'm-Too-Sexy-For-Mah-Shirt before home time, so Ah guess Ah'll see y'all later, guys."

"Bye, Anna," Kitty replies. "Oh, and by the way – don't be too confrontational with the guy, okay? Mr. LeBeau's in a bit of a bad mood today."

"Is he?" I query thoughtfully. Well this is a piece of news. The Cajun's usually irrepressible in his slimy smoothness. I'm wondering what on earth could possibly rile him up. I've tried it myself a few times already, but not even slapping him one seems to work.

"Yeah. Lila forwarded him a letter this morning, and it must've got his wind up because he's been holed up in his office all morning. It just isn't like him."

Hmmm. So _that's _why he hasn't come round to harass me.

"Well Ah must say it surprises me that _anythin'_ short of shootin' the man can get him down. Thanks for the head's up Kitty. Ah'm sure Ah can handle anythin' Mr. LeBeau can throw at me."

"So are we," Pete grins. "That's why we don't want you to go falling for any bait he dangles in front of you, okay, Anna? We don't want to have to break up any fights between you two."

"Ah'll be on mah best behavior, scout's honor." I cross my heart and give them both an innocent look. "You won't hear a peep outta me."

I leave the room, getting the sense they'd rather have me out of the way anyway. Momma always did tell me that three's a crowd, and I know when my presence_ isn't _required.

I glance at my watch. 4: 48 pm. I've managed to get through most of the day avoiding my so-called boss. Unfortunately, I can't stave off the necessity of handing in my project updates, so I'd purposely decided to do so just before 5pm so our meeting can be conveniently cut off before anything gets out of hand. Since the conversation with Jean yesterday, I've been feeling wary of Remy's presence. Okay, suppose I actually _do_ like him, and my anger was a cover for that? That's what I'm _really_ worried about, not some fight.

I knock on the door of his office lightly, feeling stupid for being so fainthearted.

"Mr. LeBeau? Remy?"

All's quiet, so I knock again and _still_ get no answer. I start to feel relieved and think I'll just slip the papers in his pigeonhole when I hear him call from the other side of the door.

"Come in."

I steel myself and push the door open. He's standing behind his desk, a cream-colored letter in his hand, an absent-minded expression on his face. Thinking I've caught him at an inconvenient time, I intend to make a quick escape.

"Oh, Ah'm sorry Mr. LeBeau, Ah didn't know you were busy…"

He raises his dark eyes to me as I begin to retreat and hastily throws the letter onto his desk.

"Oh… Anna… No, s'alright… I ain't busy. Come in. What is it y' wanted?"

I catch the tone of his voice. There's none of the usual cocky, Cajun arrogance to it. Looking at his face I realize he doesn't just seem absent-minded. There's something more. Worry? Concern? I hesitate. I've never seen him look so…haunted before.

"Oh, uh, it's nothin' really," I mutter quickly. "Jus' Petey an' Ah finished doing that storyboarding for the ad you wanted, an' Ah thought Ah'd show you the copies before Ah left, but if you're occupied…"

"Non, non, I ain't occupied," he interrupts abruptly. He gives me a pale smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I'd love t' see your work, Anna."

He crosses over to the other side of the desk and I pass him the papers. He leafs through them but still seems distracted. I find myself staring at his eyes beneath those long lashes of his, trying to read the emotion in them. Something's obviously bothering him. From the moment we met he's been pushing all my buttons relentlessly – it isn't like him not to make a move on me. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe I'm sore I'm no longer the center of his attention, but I put that thought away immediately. Still, it must take a lot to divert his attention from harassing me…

I take a glance over at the letter lying on the desk. No – not a letter – an invitation. A cream-colored, frilly one with gold print on the envelope…

"Friend of yours gettin' married?" I blurt out without thinking. As soon as I say it, I realize I've let my big mouth run away with me – again. _Way to go, Roguey!_

His eyes flash under the lashes, but he pretends to carry on reading and says; "Yes," as nonchalantly as he can.

His jaw is tense. I can hardly believe my luck! I've found out where Remy LeBeau's secret button is and I have a chance to get him back and press it for all it's worth! I just can't help myself. I go in for the plunge, stab the knife in a little deeper.

"Good friend?" I asked casually.

He lowers his head, grits his teeth, loosens his jaw, takes a deep breath and replies: "Once upon a time."

There's real pain in his voice this time, enough to make me relent. Despite all the hell he's put me through, I can't bear to kick someone when they're down. Besides, it wasn't so much hell he put me through as a fairly brutal course of Flirtation for the High-Powered Businessperson, and honestly, I'm as flirtatious as the next girl. I stare down at the wedding invite again. Whoever she was, he must've cared for her a lot. A smidgen of jealously streaks through me, but I can't bear to acknowledge it. Nevertheless I still feel guilty for baiting him. I take in a shaky breath and say: "oh."

He looks up at me then and I look back at him. Until that moment I hadn't realized how close we'd been standing to one another. In the space of that one glance, I feel it again. The electricity between us. Looking into his eyes, I realize – _he feels it too_. He slowly places the files back down on the desk, holds my gaze and says: "Anna…"

And I say: "Mr. LeBeau…"

And he says: "Remy."

And I correct myself and say: "Remy…"

I want to sneer and insult him and walk away and slam the door in his face. I want to grab my files and run. I want to apologize for calling his bluff and toying with him. I want to say I'm sorry and that I hope he gets over Whoever-She-Is someday, and that I've felt the same way too, and even though the pain doesn't go away it does get better. There are a lot of things I want to do. But I end up doing none of them.

Instead I end up kissing him. I lean forwards and kiss him, and for a second I begin to panic, my mind literally screaming at me to back off. But then he's kissing me back, and hell, I realize it's all I've really wanted in the first place, his lips on mine, his body pressed close… and after those first few seconds of awkwardness our kiss deepens as his hand slips round my waist and the other twines into my hair.

_Wow_. This guy sure is some kisser. I forget the idea I'd ever wanted to slap him, to insult him, to make him suffer. He kisses it all away with those expert lips of his and I feel my knees begin to buckle under the passion of our embrace. He preempts me, slides his hands down over my butt, keeping me upright. Then he raises me lightly so that I'm sitting on the edge of his desk. He breaks away, smiles, and I find myself suddenly eye-level with him as I try to catch my breath. I'm confused. I hate him, don't I? And yet how can I deny to myself that I've found him irresistibly sexy since day one?

While I'm busy trying to analyze my feelings, his hand is busy sneaking its way up under my skirt, and I gasp as he finds the flesh above my stocking top and caresses me lightly. His eyes are still looking into mine, challenging me to say no to him, and I want to so much, I want to show him Anna Raven never gives in without a fight, but the lust in his eyes mirrors my own and before I know it I'm kissing him again as if I couldn't get enough of him, my legs winding round his waist, drawing him in closer.

_Shit, Roguey, this is wrong, you know it's wrong, get out of here right now!_

I can't. He pauses, murmuring my name against my lips before kissing me again. I feel his fingers working at the top button of my shirt, and I want it, I can't remember the last time I felt such passion, and I _need_ it too much, it's what I've been looking for, it's what I've been missing every night since that terrible day four years ago… …

**Ring, ring!**

Behind me the phone rings shrilly, cutting through our passionate embrace like a jolt of electricity, drawing us apart like lightning. Remy glances at the phone, licks his lips impatiently, then back at me. I avoid his gaze, breathing hard, still feeling the taste of his kisses in my mouth. When I don't look at him, he picks up the phone and snaps: "What?"

My cheeks are burning, both with embarrassment and desire. I look down at myself and find my skirt's ridden halfway up my thighs. I hurriedly rearrange it as Remy speaks agitatedly into the phone.

"Lila, can't dis wait?" he exclaims. "I'm kinda busy right now."

He shoots me a glance, but I still avoid his look. My mind is slowly coming back to me. _Rogue, you're a great big bumblin' idiot!_

"Yes – I'm _busy_," he continues. "Yes – _very_ important. Oui – even more important den dat. No, it's not Ororo Munroe. No, it's not de First Lady. Whaddya mean she's de most important woman I ain't had yet!"

I look back over my shoulder, my eyes falling on the creamy paper of the wedding invitation. It suddenly becomes clear to me. Remy LeBeau doesn't want me – I'm his little distraction, the balm for his wounded pride. He's been rejected, so he pounces on the first woman he comes across – me. And lonely little Rogue – who's so desperately been searching for love like the pathetic loser she is – fell straight into his trap. For the first time since this whole crazy thing began, tears begin to smart my eyes. Remy had taken advantage of me, just like he had every other gal. I slide off the desk.

"Ah've got t' go," I mumble.

"What?" Remy says, both to the phone and to me. "Waitaminnit…"

"Ah really haveta go," I repeat, as he takes step towards me and gives a beseeching look while Lila rants down the phone at him. "Ah haveta go home and, uh, feed mah fish."

I back off from him, realizing the top half of my black bra is peeking through my open blouse. Blushing, I hastily do up the buttons and begin walking towards the door.

"Lila," Remy garbles into the receiver behind me, "can you hang on a sec? Dere's somethin' I haveta do back here…" I hear him drop the handset on the table and the next moment his hand is about my wrist, pulling me back. I turn reluctantly to face him, not knowing why I still feel so drawn to him. It's all I can do to keep the distance between us and stop myself from going back into his arms.

"Rogue," he says, almost desperately, "Anna… Wait a minute. We can talk…"

There's a pause, a silence that seems to last minutes. Talk? What's there to talk about? I know the truth already. I don't mean jack-shit to him. I'm only rebound material, second-hand goods, a one-minute wonder.

"Ah haveta go," I echo softly, resolutely, twisting my wrist from his grasp. On the desk, Lila's voice is still prattling away. He looks back at the phone.

I take that split second of opportunity to make my escape.

-oOo-

_To be continued..._


	11. Jumping to Conclusions

**Disclaimer:** We are unto Marvel as Toad is unto Magneto... We are the under-appreciated minions that do their bidding, spreading the joy that is Romy throughout the land, and being paid not a jot. And all because they own these characters, and we don't. Sucky, eh?

**A/N:** Thanks for the tons of reviews you guys have written - you all literally kick ass:D Anyways, we just HAVE to give a few replies to some of your comments. Firstly - Paige is gonna be the LEAST of Warren and Betsy's problems, so all you Archangel/Psylocke fans, watch this space! Secondly - who else could Remy's invitation be from? And would it really be for HIS wedding? Hmmm. Personally we think 'Whoever-She-Is' is being a total bitch by sending him her wedding invite. Poor Remy. Or not so poor really, since he's obviously been giving our Rogue a hard time. And speaking of, do y'all really think Rogue can curb her obvious passion for the sleazy Cajun? It's all a question of when rather than if... not to mention HOW. But the less said the better. Just keep yourself psyched up for one bumpy, rocky, exhilirating and SEXY ride! ;)

-oOo-

**

* * *

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(11) Jumping to Conclusions**

The choice comprised of _The Times_, _Vogue_ and a colorful edition of _Cosmopolitan_.

Out of habit, Betsy reached out and picked up the issue of _Vogue_. Now sat comfortably in the first-class cabin, and exceedingly glad to be out of economy-class and its resident screaming brats, she flipped through the magazine with a mixture of interest and growing dismay. There was a long article about Ororo Munroe signing up to be the latest face of L&L, the job that Betsy had been ready to sign herself before giving up her career. She felt obligated to be interested in the news since Rogue was advertising the new campaign, but on the other hand it distressed her to read about it. After reading a few paragraphs she snapped the mag shut. She couldn't bear to read anymore and find out just how out-of-touch she was with the modeling world.

And Neal _still _hadn't called her, nor had he answered her own calls all the way up to boarding the plane. _He really means to end it_, she thought morosely. _That's why he's been ignoring me. I just wish he'd had the decency to let me know before I left for England…_

She was just about to order a glass of wine from the nearby hostess when a familiar voice spoke beside her.

"Mind if I take this seat?"

She looked up to see Warren, a mixture of friendliness and apprehension on his face. She was puzzled at his request, but since the seat was empty, she couldn't see why not.

"Of course," she replied, removing the magazines from the chair and tucking them in the pocket in front of her. Warren sat down, while Betsy opted to read the newspaper. For a few minutes neither said anything, and while Betsy appeared to be reading she was actually more concerned with the proximity of the man beside her.

At last Warren decided to speak.

"Betsy," he began awkwardly, "I think I should apologize for my… tone of voice earlier on at the airport. It was… uncalled for."

She gave him a side-glance, trying not to look too concerned.

"Apology accepted," she said coolly.

"It's just… Well, yesterday night I was hoping to spend some more time with you, and the next moment I see you with this guy, parading him round the room like he was your boyfriend or something…"

He faltered and she looked at him in surprise. "Parading? Why on earth would I want to _parade _him around? Besides, you seemed pretty cozy with that Paige Guthrie, and I thought you wouldn't be too bothered if I happened to be talking to someone else."

Now it was his turn to look surprised.

"Paige? What, her? I was feeling anything _but_ cozy with her!" He rolled his eyes dramatically. "The girl just wouldn't let me go! She spent the rest of the evening following me around, trying to ram mini quiches down my throat… I only put up with her out of the goodness of my poor heart!"

Betsy was confused, remembering the smiles and nods he'd given the blonde girl the night before. "But you seemed so happy to talk to her," she voiced in bewilderment.

"Well, unlike some people, I've been taught good manners," he replied a little sarcastically. "I just can't be impolite to _anyone_. Not even some crazed fan like Paige Guthrie."

She gave a wry smile. "Are you sure about that? You seemed pretty cutting to me this morning."

"That was a one-off and I'm sorry Betsy," he apologized again honestly. "I'm usually much more of a tactician, shall we say."

"You mean you're diplomatic with your enemies?" She raised an eyebrow. "You're far more forbearing than I'd ever be."

"That's what you think," he grinned. "Even while I've been away I've managed to bring one very conceited business acquaintance down a peg or two."

"Oh no," Betsy bantered back in mock horror. "What did you do to him? Sabotage his fancy set of wheels or something?"

"Oh that's far below my usual level of operations," he replied smoothly. "And it was a woman, by the way. A very stuck-up and opinionated woman, I might add. Don't mistake me – I wouldn't do anything to permanently _damage_ anyone, but this woman… well, let's just say that she's so high-and-mighty a little strategic humiliation was in order."

"I hope it wasn't anything _too_ drastic," Betsy returned, nevertheless smiling at his exuberant way of expressing himself.

"Oh no, I'm not _that_ barbaric." He laughed. "It was quite harmless really. Maybe she'll even see the joke and we'll have a laugh about it over a drink when I get back. But somehow, I doubt it."

"She sounds like an absolute dragon," Betsy remarked morosely. "Just like my mother – an old bat without a single ounce of humor in her."

Warren laughed heartily. "Oh come now. Your mom isn't _that_ bad. You should hear mine. Always complaining about how Worthington Incorporated used to be run better in my father's day. I just smile and nod and pretend I agree. It's the only way to handle her."

"I wish I had your fortitude," Betsy sighed. "Whenever I see my mother, I somehow freeze up. I try to tackle her sensibly, but she gets me so nervous and upset that I just can't help opening my big mouth and instigating an argument."

"Oh well, at least you don't have to tackle her face-to-face anymore," Warren remarked. "I _did_ wonder why you were acting so strange during that incident on the balcony though. Still – even though our dance was pretty unconventional, I did enjoy it."

"Me too," she smiled. "I must admit, I've never seen anyone dance the tango quite as exuberantly as you."

"Me neither," he replied, giving her an intense look. "You should practice more often, you're a natural." He paused, then suddenly burst out laughing. Startled, Betsy turned to him.

"What? What is it?"

He continued to laugh as he shook his head, wiping his eyes comically. "I can't believe you thought I was into _Paige Guthrie _of all people!" he chuckled.

Now that Betsy knew she'd been completely mistaken about the whole affair, and now that she felt a little guilty for being so rude to him the night before, she had the good grace to laugh about it.

"But Paige Guthrie is such a sweet, smart, young, American gal..." she joked in her best impression of Rogue's typical magnolias accent. He laughed, his blue eyes twinkling as he did so.

"She's also jailbait," he said, giving her a wink. "And she simply isn't nearly as engaging as you, my dear Betsy Braddock."

-oOo-

I walk down the corridors of L&L feeling a tentative mixture of relief and confusion.

When I'd got up this morning, I'd expected it to be all around the company that yesterday I'd made the tactical error of sticking my tongue down my boss' throat. I'd steeled myself for women tittering in the corridor as I passed, for men throwing me wolf-whistles and leers and dirty innuendoes. But now, as I march towards my desk expecting someone, _anyone_, to suddenly stand up, point and laugh at me, everything's normal. No one gives me a second glance. It's as if nothing's happened, which I'd believe if the entire episode with that exasperating Cajun wasn't ingrained firmly in my memory for some reason.

It seems that Remy hasn't been gloating about his conquest after all. I'm confused but grateful. It doesn't make it any better knowing I'm caught between two compulsions. On the one hand I want to cower away and avoid the man, because obviously the whole tryst was yet another big blooper in my ever-catastrophic love-life. But on the other hand… I just can't darn well get that kiss out of my head! I've been with a few guys the past couple of years, but not _one_ of them has left me feeling the way Remy LeBeau has, with this strange glow in the pit of my stomach. And I hate myself for it. Because now I know first-hand he lives up to his name as L&L's premier Romeo – perhaps even _New York's_ premier Romeo – and I also know why all the girls round here act like saps when he enters the room. And it's driving me crazy.

I'm busy losing myself in tawdry daydreams of bodice-ripping yarns involving me and you-know-who, when who should suddenly start walking down the corridor towards me but the very man himself. Luckily Jean-Paul's in conversation with him, otherwise I know he'd probably stop me and start boasting about how he finally conquered the very gal who'd promised him the fires of hell if he ever touched her again.

Yeah, right.

I still can't help myself from going into automatic blush overdrive and I quickly lower my head, hoping they'll pass me by without incident. But we all know fate just doesn't work like that for li'l old me. Just as I pass them and I think I've made a home-run, Jean-Paul decides to call me back.

"Oh, Anna!" he calls. "I almost didn't see you there!" (_Darn it!_ Why does this _always_ happen to me!) "And I was just wanting to congratulate you on some excellent work for our new campaign."

I swivel round quickly, blushing furiously and avoiding Remy's gaze as if it's some sort of contagious disease.

"Thanks Mr. Beaubier, suh," I mumble rapidly, hoping against hope he won't keep me long. No such luck.

"Remy and I were just discussing your progress and we both agree that you've already turned out to be a big asset to the company," he continues cheerily. "I'd really appreciate it if you could come over to my office sometime today and share some of your ideas with me, if you don't mind?"

I can barely hear a word he's saying. All I can concentrate on is the fact that I can feel the sensuous heat of Remy's gaze on my right cheek. He wants me to look at him, he wants me to see that dirty little smirk I feel sure is on his face right now, the one that says _you lost, I won and I'm going to win again_. I refuse to give him the pleasure!

"Ah'd surely like that, Mr. Beaubier, suh," I shoot back as fast as I can. "But if yah don't mind, Ah have some really important work to do that just won't wait…"

"Of course, of course," JP waves me away indulgently. "I don't want to hold you back from your masterpiece! I'll look forward to meeting with you later."

"Yes, suh, pleasure suh," I breathe and scuttle away as fast as my legs can take me.

All the way down the rest of the corridor I can still feel the warmth Remy's gaze seeping into my back.

-xXx-

It was a cool but sunny winter morning in the Big Apple, one that belied the frosty, gloomy weather that was soon to be on the horizon. Two women were sitting in a new and trendy Italian cafe on a certain high street, sipping cappuccinos with various designer outlet shopping bags gathered around them.

"I'm so glad we _finally_ got the bridesmaid's dresses out of the way," Jean Grey was saying to her companion as they sat by the window, watching the New York traffic race by. "I was beginning to think the tailors would _never_ have them done in time."

"If they hadn't, I would've given them a piece of my mind, and you know what my piece of mind looks like, Jean darling," Emma replied ominously.

"Yes – it's got the word 'sue' written all over it!" Jean laughed as she took a sip of her coffee. Since she'd decided to put her visits to the _Hideaway_ firmly behind her, she'd felt refreshed and optimistic about the future. Yet she couldn't help but notice that while she'd been fairly animated that morning, in contrast Emma had seemed subdued during their shopping trip. It had been suspicious enough that she'd taken the day off work to accompany Jean in the first place, let alone that she looked this sober.

"Alright," Jean spoke up, placing down her cup and looking at her friend severely. "Tell me what's up, Emma. You've been acting strangely all morning. And you've even skipped work! Has something happened?"

In the usual circumstances, Emma would've denied everything, probably even scolded Jean for suggesting such a thing. But instead she stirred her coffee and replied rather solemnly: "Something happened with Carlos last night. I'd rather not discuss it, Jean, to be honest."

"What!" Jean cried, her natural concern for her friends automatically flaring. "What on earth did he do to you?" She'd never seen Emma looking so downcast, so it _must've_ been something serious…

"I'd rather spare us both the details, Jean," she said, smiling faintly. "It was highly embarrassing. Let's just say I caught him cheating on me and leave it at that."

Jean said nothing. She didn't like to say that Emma went through men like she did handbags, and from what she could tell, very few of her relationships had been serious at all. She'd even been known to two-time once in while… maybe even three-time when it suited her. So what warranted as 'cheating' in Emma's book was something of a mystery to Jean, but Emma obviously seemed upset, so she wasn't going to challenge her.

"I'm sorry, Emma," she finally said sympathetically. "If only I'd been there for you…"

"You weren't to know, Jean," Emma interjected matter-of-factly. "Besides, luckily enough my gardener was there to give me some moral support in your stead…"

"Your gardener? You mean that guy… Bobby Drake?"

Emma smiled to herself, a small smile quite uncharacteristic to her, or so Jean thought. "He's a very sweet boy, Jean. Sometimes _too_ sweet, I think – at least for the likes of me." She sighed. "Still, he gave me some good advice. Can you believe it, he even had the guts to say I was seeing the wrong type of men, and that I was foolish to date guys that don't treat me with respect!"

"I hate to break this to you, but he's right," Jean rejoined dryly.

"I know, I know. At least, I do now. So I've decided that young, brainless and idiotic men are going straight out the window, and are now to be replaced with honest, responsible, mature ones. I'm even thinking of making some headway and phoning an acquaintance of mine this evening."

"A date? Already? Are you sure you're not being a little too hasty?" Jean said in concern.

Emma waved aside the comment with a hand. "I can't stand being alone like an old maid all the time, Jean! Besides, what's the harm in asking a guy out on a date? This guy happens to fit the required profile well. He's a far more mature, responsible man – the chairman of some prestigious rich man's club in England or something. His name's Sebastian Shaw and I happen to like him quite a lot."

"Well, I hope he's the guy for you," Jean replied dubiously. "But it sounds to me like this Bobby Drake is the better bet."

"You're joking," Emma scoffed. "He's a kid, he's a student, _and_ he's my gardener!"

"So? He's only 2 years younger than you, _you_ were a student once, and what's wrong with gardening? I didn't know you're such a snob, Emma!"

"I am not! I'm just…stating the facts, that's all! I'm willing to bet that if Scott was a gardener and not a financial consultant, _you_ wouldn't like him so much."

Jean was just about to protest when suddenly her cell phone went off beside her. As luck would have it, it was Scott. _Speaking of the Devil_, she thought, and received the call.

"Scott! Darling, I've been trying to call you for ages!"

"Hi, honey," his comforting voice came down the line. "I know, I'm sorry, but I've been very busy lately. I did try to call you last night though, but you didn't answer. Where were you?"

"Oh, I was at, uh, Rogue's place," Jean lied quickly. "We were having a bit of a girly night."

"Oh." His tone was faintly disapproving. "I hope she didn't keep you up too late."

"Well, I had the day off today to do some wedding stuff, so it didn't really matter," she explained patiently. "Speaking of the wedding, next Monday the reverend said he needed to rehearse the ceremony with us. What time are you getting back?"

"Well, that's what I was calling about, Jean," Scott replied a little sheepishly. "Things have been really hectic up here and I may have to stay an extra couple of days. But I _promise _no longer than that, okay, honey? I'll call you when everything's been finalized."

"What! But Scott, there are so many things you still need to sort out about the wedding, and…"

"Well, are you sure you can't handle them by yourself?" He sounded a little vexed. "Unless it's money you want. Do you want me to transfer some to your account?"

"Scott, this isn't about money," Jean returned, annoyance entering her own voice. "This is about me needing you here to finalize our wedding plans. Our _wedding_ plans, Scott, do you understand that?"

"I understand fine, honey, and there'll still be time to do that when I get back. Only this is very important and…" He paused, and Jean heard someone's voice murmuring in the background before he came back on. "Listen, I've gotta go, Jean, but we'll discuss this later, okay? I'll call you."

"Okay," she said, somewhat dejectedly. "I love…" But he'd already hung up. Jean stared at the phone for a moment before cursing under her breath and ending the call. Emma raised an eyebrow.

"Trouble in paradise?" she quipped.

"Don't you start. I've already had Rogue tease me about it." Jean sighed in exasperation. "Looks like all of us girls are going through a crisis these days! What with you and Carlos, and me and this wedding, and Betsy with her hippy-dippy craze, and Rogue with her…"

"Rogue?" Emma echoed, cutting her off. "You mean she had another turn for the worse?"

"You could say that," Jean nodded regretfully. "She got another letter from Caldecott – the hospital. I guess it triggered some of the bad memories. She got all upset and started crying."

Emma propped her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in her hands thoughtfully. "Hmm. You know, I'm really worried about her. It's been over four years now. I would've thought she'd have gotten over it."

"Chance'd be a fine thing," Jean frowned. "The girl went through a _lot_. More than anything we've ever experienced or are likely to – touch wood. Things like that don't just go away."

Emma gave a twisted smile. "You're right. And here I was thinking _my_ troubles were bad enough."

"Me too," Jean mused reflectively. "_But_, there _is_ a bright side."

"Bright side?" Emma looked nonplussed. "What bright side? Unless the girl's finally…Jean, you don't mean to say…!"

"Yes." Jean leaned in conspiratorially and whispered; "I think Rogue's met someone."

Emma's eyes widened. "She has?"

Jean nodded vigorously. "Some guy she's working with. Her boss, actually. She got all defensive and blushed like crazy when I suggested she even liked him. She _never _got that flustered, not even with Joe or that Erik guy."

"Ooooh, details, details!" demanded Emma, grinning for the first time that day.

"None yet, I'm afraid. We'll have to work on her first before we find out. But guess what? Whoever he is, this guy sounds like a real picture. Get this!" She lowered her voice for dramatic effect, "His name is _Remy LeBeau_! Now did you ever hear such an sexy, exotic name?"

"Remy LeBeau?" Emma smirked, her eyes dancing with laughter. "Is that a Chippendale type name or _what_! I can just see him now. Tall, dark, handsome…with gorgeous eyes… And an accent!"

-oOo-

Meanwhile, halfway across town, Remy LeBeau was sitting in his office staring blankly at a pile of reports spread out on his desk before him, looking less of an Adonis than the two gossiping friends thought him. To the casual observer, it probably would've seemed he was concentrating on reading the papers in front of him. But in reality, his mind couldn't have been further away.

Truth be told, he'd been unable to sleep the night before, and now he felt a mess. It was all because he'd been thinking about _her_. He'd spent the night thinking about a woman, _one_ woman, and it wasn't That Woman. It was _her_. And that unnerved him. It was totally contradictory to his nature. It just wasn't Remy LeBeau.

For the best part of a couple of weeks now he'd been working up to the moment where Anna Raven would finally cave into his charms. Of all the women he'd ever pursued, she was the one who'd held out the longest. He didn't mind that. He enjoyed a challenge. It had made him want her even more. And up until yesterday evening, he had to admit, she'd mostly been just that – a challenge.

He frowned to himself. He just couldn't get it. One moment she'd been provoking him, the next they'd been kissing. It'd totally taken him by surprise, totally taken his breath away. It was a moment he'd been fantasizing about ever since he'd first met her, but suddenly he'd found himself facing the reality. And it far, far outstripped the fantasy.

Just at that moment, a knock sounded at the door. Remy looked up from his papers and gave an irritated sigh.

"What is it?" he snapped.

The door opened to reveal Monet, dressed in a provocatively low-cut shirt and a barely-there skirt. Remy gave an inward groan of frustration as she sidled in expectantly and shut the door quietly behind her. The last person he wanted to see was her.

"I heard you were in need of some cheering up," she informed him when he didn't greet her. "And from the look of it, I wasn't mistaken."

Remy stood up rapidly, gathered up his papers and walked over to his filing cabinet.

"Look, Mon, I'm really not in de mood for dis…"

"Nonsense," she replied lightly, walking up behind him as he began filing away the reports. "Listen, Remy, I heard about the…letter you received yesterday. I can understand why you'd be brooding in your office, but it's really time you got over…"

"Save it, Mon," he retorted through gritted teeth. "You don't know anyt'ing 'bout it." He didn't want to tell her that the wedding invitation he'd received was only half the story. True, _yesterday_ he'd been upset about it, but what was really bothering him _now _was the way Anna Raven had walked out on him the day before – not to mention the way she'd completely blanked him in the corridor that morning.

"I know enough," Monet answered coyly. "And I know exactly how I can cure you too." The next moment her hands were on his shoulders, gently kneading his aching muscles with expert hands. "What do you say we go out for an Italian after work?" she murmured. "Perhaps we could have ourselves a drink down at the _Hideaway_… And then we can go back to my place… Maybe I can fix us up some dessert." She leant in against his ear, finishing in a tantalizing whisper: "I still have that lacy red number I know you love."

Remy glowered. Instead of having the desired effect, Monet's words had actually hit a sore spot. Red lace and dessert would've been a fine notion if only it was a certain someone else wearing it and not her. He shrugged her hands off roughly and turned, pushing her away firmly by the shoulders.

"Mon, I already told you, I'm not in de mood," he seethed, purposely ignoring her expression of wounded confusion at his rejection.

"Hmph. That's a new one," she sneered sharply, finally realizing he really wanted nothing to do with her. "Since when have you not been 'in the mood', Remy LeBeau?"

He was about to answer when the sound of high-heels passing outside his office caused him to stop. A shadow passed across the blinds of his window with a familiar softly swaying gait. From the shape of the silhouette, from the outline of the hair and the shape of the profile, he knew it was Rogue. Dieu, what was wrong with him – he even knew what her silhouette looked like now!

Monet, seeing his change of expression, looked over her shoulder as Rogue sat down at her desk, unaware of the scene in the office opposite. She looked back at him, her gaze disbelieving.

"_Anna Raven_?" she queried incredulously.

He let go of her, his scowl deepening as he turned back to his files, wishing she would go. She didn't.

"Now I see," she noted coldly instead. "I was wondering why you haven't stopped round my office lately. You're still thinking you've got a chance with _her _and she's turned you down so here you are, sulking all day." She crossed her arms, shaking her head in disdain. "I _told_ you she'd get you burned, didn't I. Save yourself the bother, Remy. She's not worth it."

"Whereas _you_ are?" he couldn't help himself from snapping at her. She was silent for a long moment at the unexpected venom in his words, and he stared at his filing cabinet, not wanting to look at her. When next she spoke her voice was quiet, scornful.

"Cut the crap, Remy. We both know neither of us has much time for love, we just want what we can get and we make sure we get it good. We use each other, and that's fine with me, because I've always known exactly what you get up to after-hours, and I'll be darned if I give a flying toss about it. But at least with me you'll always know where you stand. I'll never ask you for anything you're not willing to give, I'll never make things difficult for you. But _her_," and she gave a humorless laugh, "let me tell you right now that she won't take anything less from you than love. She's one of _those_ women – believe me, I've seen them often enough. She simply won't have you, and she'll _never_ understand you. Not the way _I_ do."

He heard her open the door, then the silky smoothness of her voice one last time before she left.

"Just remember, Remy – when she rejects you, I'll be waiting."

The door clicked softly shut. In the ensuing silence Remy was left glowering at the filing cabinet, Monet's harsh words playing over in his mind. He knew that what she had said about him was the truth – he had no time for love and hadn't for a long time. But something had happened and he didn't know why or how because it defied all logic. Anna Raven had happened and she'd showed him a hint of the passion inside her, the real reason her friends called her Rogue – and it was more than he could ever have expected, a passion that could finally match his own. Just the memory of her kisses, of her fingers in his hair and her legs wrapped round his waist was driving him insane. He wanted more of her. He wanted to know whether he was just being crazy or whether there really was something more.

Remy turned, his mind suddenly made up.

He was going to prove Monet wrong.

There was no way he was going to let Anna Raven slip out of his grasp, not when he'd only just realized how much he truly needed her.

-xXx-

"Rogue? Uh, Anna?"

I freeze. It's _his_ voice. Here it is. Finally. The moment of truth.

Rule 6: **When you have nothing left to lose but your dignity,_ always_ act cool.**

I automatically duck my head and pretend to busy myself with my work.

"Yes, Mr. LeBeau?"

Despite my cool tone, my cheeks are already reddening as I recall the _incident_ the day before.

"You left your papers in my office yesterday," he says behind me. Is that an element of desperation I hear in his voice? "Thought you'd be needin' dem."

I'm confused. My heart's beating a mile a minute. I want to turn round and face him but I can't.

"They're just copies," I reply quickly. "Ah made 'em for you, 'member? Keep 'em."

"Oh," he says. There's a silence and he shuffles awkwardly behind me. Irritation begins to override my sense of dread. C'mon Remy, what are you waitin' for? Please just crow at me and go. I can't bear to prolong this another moment more.

"Anna," he finally spits it out, "yesterday…"

"Was a mistake," I cut in abruptly, before he can get the chance to gloat about his conquest. Silence. Well that sure shocked him! I'm surprised it didn't take a whole lot more to shut him up. "It was a big, stupid mistake and …and… highly unethical," I add rapidly. No way am I gonna come over like a lovesick puppy to him, like all his other conquests! He may have won yesterday's little game, but I'm sure as hell gonna win _this_ one. "You're mah boss and Ah'm your marketin' assistant. It was just plain wrong."

"It was?" His tone is disappointed. I'm only half glad to hear it. I've managed to stave off the gloating I'm sure he'd come to indulge in, but at the same time I'm feeling this warmth deep in the pit of my stomach, leftovers from our encounter the day before. Given half the chance, I know I'd be up on his desk again and we'd be going at it like rabbits.

"Yup," I say, literally swallowing the treacherous feeling. "It may be fine for you to get your kicks round here, but if Ah get caught Ah'll be fired right quick. No way Ah'm riskin' mah job for some cheap an' disgustin' office fling."

The words hang between us thick in the air. What's taking him so long? Where's his usual trademark glib remark, that cocky comeback? I steel myself for it.

It never comes.

"Right," he mumbles. Surprised, I finally swivel round in my seat to face him; but all I catch is the view of his back as he walks away.

-oOo-

_To be continued..._


	12. Back to Square One

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to and are currently suffering under the hands of Marvel. Adopt an X-Man and save them from much needless angst now! Your X-Man needs you!

**A/N:** We've both been busy. In fact, the likelihood is that I'm going to be busy for the next couple of weeks or more depending on how things turn out, so I don't know when the next chapter will be out... Might be able to churn something out though. This is the only fun I get these days.-sigh- Just to say a big thanks for all the reviews you guys left. I just had to reply to some of them. **Oniongurl** - Hmmm. We wonder whose voice it was in the background too...;) And we'd just like to say, welcome to the crazy world of MnM, and thanks so much for all your input so far, girl:D **ishandahalf** - Muahahahaha. Doesn't Remy LeBeau just sound like a male stripper's name to you? If we didn't know any better, we'd think Remy LeBeau ain't his real name at all! Still, we just had to add that little joke in, glad you picked up on it, chere. ;) As for the 'vicious cycle' of Remy and Rogue's 'relationship' - it's going to be disrupted fairly soon, and lead onto more explosive events and revelations... Expect the unexpected with our fave couple! ;) **Seven Sunningdale** - Whoo, I still feel the need to bow down and say 'I'm not worthy!' ;) Thanks for reading, and more importantly, for reviewing. Yes... Emma and Jean interacting like the best of friends - who woulda thought it? ;) And about Monet being ultra-practical - you're right that's EXACTLY the way I envisioned her, glad you don't just see her as the 'enemy', because in a way, Remy does deserve her, and he does deserve the crap Rogue's dishing out to him. It's karma, as you say. And soon enough, it's going to get even crazier... Oo **demiducky25** - Thanks so much for pointing out all the things you liked best about the chapter - it really helps us know what we're doing right. :) Yes, we can envision plenty of angst for Betsy and Warren, and not just including Emma either... :p "and what a FINE back it was I'm sure!" Girl, you had me cracking up there! XD I know I'd be thinking the same thing if I was Anna... **Sweety8587**- You know, I was thinking of doing a little list of all those rules together...Putting them at the end would be a great idea. Thanks, hun! **4rogue** - All I can say is, you'll find out why Rogue's being so defensive soon enough. ;)

Anyways, I could go on forever, but then we wouldn't have a story. But thanks again to all those who've given their support, we appreciate it as always! Love yah muchly! And now on with the story! - _Ludi x_

-oOo-

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* * *

Mix 'n' Match **

**(12) Back to Square One**

It was midday when Betsy arrived back in her New York apartment, and once she'd gotten there she ran straight to her answer machine. She had received various phone calls, mostly from her friends and acquaintances, but none at all from Neal. Every message she expected to hear his deep, somehow comforting voice, but every time she was left disappointed. At last the tape ran to the end and she was left standing there, frowning in dismay and confusion. Just what had she done that was so wrong? Obviously it was over between them, but why couldn't he at least have told her so?

She sighed and stripped off her coat, allowing her disconcerted mind to wander over to Warren. They'd spent the entire plane trip chatting, and once they'd arrived at the airport they'd even shared the same cab back home. Warren had helped her load and unload her luggage, and even insisted he paid the cab fare. Somehow, she hadn't minded him seeing exactly where she lived. Not only did she find him very attractive, but she also found him completely comfortable to be around. Even more comfortable than Neal, she had to admit. He was smart and gentlemanly, and had a great sense of humor. Not to mention he was stunningly good-looking _and_ she knew her mother would approve of him…

Betsy suddenly frowned. If Neal wasn't even going to give her the time of day anymore, then why bother with him? It was almost as if fate had pushed Warren her way, as someone who could understand and comfort her. She didn't need to seek him out as a potential serious partner… But at least he could be a friend to her, someone she could talk to without feeling she needed to be anyone but herself. Besides, she had nothing to be guilty about. She wasn't the one that had dumped her boyfriend without rhythm or rhyme, was she?

Just then, the phone began to ring and Betsy snatched it up, still hoping against hope that it was Neal.

"Yes?" she asked breathlessly.

"Betts!" It was Jean's voice, laced with its usual friendly exuberance. Betsy's heart calmed somewhat. Truth be told she was rather nervous of talking to Neal again. "Girl, I thought you were going to call us once you got back?"

"I was," Betsy replied. "Actually, I only arrived back just this minute."

"I see," Jean returned. "So how was it? Nothing too bad, I hope."

"Actually…" Betsy answered serenely, as she recalled the calming effect Warren had on her, "I had a _lovely_ time."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. See, it was nothing to worry about at all, was it?"

"I suppose not."

Jean laughed. "Sometimes you and Rogue are _way_ too paranoid. Speaking of, I was wondering whether you'd be up to having a get-together at her place this evening?"

"Sounds like fun. I'd love to," Betsy agreed. At least it'd take her mind off Neal…

"Great. Just remember to bring along some food and drink, okay? It's meant to be a surprise. Rogue hasn't been feeling herself since you left and I wanted to cheer her up."

"Sounds great to me. I could do with chilling out, actually."

Jean quickly caught her sober tone of voice. "Really? What's happened?"

"Neal," Betsy answered shortly with a sigh. "It's kind of a long story. I'll tell you on the way down to Rogue's place."

"All right." Jean's voice was faintly worried. "I guess we could _all_ do with some time out. I'll pick you up at 6, okay?"

"Okay. See you later then."

Betsy hung up and looked round her empty living room. No – she simply refused to be sore over Neal. Reaching into her coat pocket, she brought out a slip of paper and stared down at it. There, written in neat calligraphy, was Warren's address and phone number. At first she'd felt reluctant to accept it, but now… Making up her mind, she quickly began to dial the number into her handset.

The phone only rang twice before it was answered.

"Betsy?" Warren's now familiar voice answered expectantly. He'd already typed her number into his address book while they'd been in the cab together, and she couldn't help smiling to hear his voice again.

"Hi, Warren," she replied, hearing the drone of a car engine in the background. "You still heading back home?"

"Yup," he replied. "The traffic's murder round here. You okay, Betts? We only just dropped you off."

"I'm fine," she assured him, feeling flustered as it finally sunk in what she was about to do. _Come on Betsy, just ask him, you have nothing to feel guilty about!_ "Look, I was just wondering… Well, I'm kind of free this weekend and I have absolutely nothing to do but stare at my boring apartment all day long, and I was wondering… how about we go out to dinner on Saturday?"

She was expecting a lot of replies, but not the one she got. He simply burst into laughter.

"What?" she cried, not knowing whether to feel surprised or offended.

"Nothing," he replied, after his laughter had died down a bit. "Just…Well, I guess you just beat me to the punch, Betsy. I was going to ask you the exact same thing once I got home."

She relaxed, a smile instantly playing across her lips. "Does that mean a yes?"

"Yes. That's exactly what it means. How about I pick you up at 7 on Saturday?"

"Sounds perfect."

"Good. I'll meet you then." He paused and she could almost see the smile on his face. "Until then…I'll be counting the days. Au revoir, Betsy."

"Bye, Warren."

Betsy hung up, her smile widening. _I'll be counting the days too, Warren. I'll be counting the days down too._

-oOo-

It was just another day at the L&L building, another day of intrigue and suspense that normally Remy LeBeau would have been straight at the heart of. But, much to the chagrin of all the ladies – from unit supervisors down to filing clerks – the man in question had hardly stepped a foot out of his office all day, and everyone was whispering about the mysterious letter he'd received the day before.

Little did they know.

Remy was chewing on an unlit cigarette as Peter Rasputin sat before him, waiting for him to say something about the project updates he'd sent him. The fact was, Remy wasn't really focusing on the notes at all. What was really distracting him was the fact that he could smell Anna Raven's light and sensual perfume all over them.

"So I was thinking," Peter continued to talk over Remy's head, "that if we could get Kitty to work on some of the composite rendering of some of the more difficult scenes of the advertisement, we'd be onto a real winner. Mr. LeBeau? Sir? Did you hear what I just said?"

Remy looked up sharply, his cigarette hanging from his bottom lip, his expression blank.

"Huh?" he said. Peter shifted, looking embarrassed.

"Sir, you're obviously distracted. Maybe this isn't the right time… I'll come back later."

He was about to take back the papers when Remy stopped him.

"Non, non, non… I'm sorry, Peter… I was jus' a bit confused… I thought Anna was supposed to be givin' me de updates today."

"Well, she was," Peter admitted. "But she said she had something else to do. A meeting with Mr. Beaubier, or something…"

"Oh." Remy hoped he hadn't sounded too obviously disappointed. He didn't doubt for a second that Anna's sudden enthusiasm to see Jean-Paul was really down to her enthusiasm for ignoring him. _She t'inks I'm a bastard and she'd be about right, _he thought miserably. _I don't deserve her. S'better dis way._

Still, it didn't stop him from feeling he'd gotten a raw deal out of the whole thing. There she was, blithely ignoring him as if nothing had happened. Monet wasn't coming round anymore, Lila had finally found herself a real man, some idiot called Guido who ate a lot of beef and raw eggs from the sound of it, and all the other girls in the building… well, they were barely worth looking at, he was so disinterested in them since Anna Raven had shown up. And to top it all off, the only thing keeping him company these days was a treacherous wedding invitation from someone he'd rather forget.

Peter, being no simpleton, knew Remy definitely had other things on his mind; and considering the rumors going round, he even thought he had an inkling as to what they were about. So he picked up the papers quickly and backed off.

"I'll leave you, Mr. LeBeau," he said decidedly. "I'll come back tomorrow."

"Okay," Remy replied, still distracted as Peter closed the door quietly behind him. Finally left alone, he sprawled back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, sighing heavily, only to ruminate once more on that kiss – and the subsequent rejection.

"She don't want me," he murmured firmly to himself. "Yesterday was a mistake. I'm her boss and she's my marketin' assistant. It's never gon' work. So stop t'inkin' about her already, LeBeau!"

But for the first time in a _long_ time, he knew it was going to be easier said than done.

-xXx-

Sheesh.

Ain't it ironic how all romances follow the same kind of formula? Boy meets girl. Boy and girl fall in love. Boy and girl encounter some seemingly insurmountable obstacle that keeps them apart. Boy and girl struggle to stay together, no matter what the odds. Usually, true love overcomes all and boy and girl end up marrying and living happily ever after.

It's all a load of old baloney, I think. Some relationships just get it right the first time round and for the rest of us old maids…well, sometimes they don't even get off the ground before they're over. But all this melodrama… God, sometimes it makes me wanna heave.

Still, that doesn't stop me from snuggling up on my sofa in my bathrobe and reading yet another Harlequin romance. Actually, I've read the same book twice before, and I'm only reading it again because the sex scenes in it are about as close to the real thing I'm ever gonna get at the rate my love life is going these days. Actually, that's not strictly true. After all I _had_ kissed Remy LeBeau the other day, and to be honest, if the kiss had gone any further… Well, having sex with your boss, up on his desk no less, sounds like a 'Harlequin-eat-your-heart-out' moment to me.

My mind involuntarily wanders from the sex scene on the page to the moment of passion I'd shared with Remy that afternoon, and I find myself lost in the memory of his beguiling lips and caressing hands, that sexy crinkle in the corner of his mouth as he'd smiled at me…

_Forget it, Anna, he's your boss,_ the little angel on my shoulder hisses peremptorily in my ear.

I sigh and put the book aside, feeling guilty. I sit and brood for a moment, knowing my mind should definitely be elsewhere and not on that arrogant Cajun and his phony seduction techniques.

_Phony? Rogue, sugah, you're the one who started it!_

Great, so now my angel's guilt-tripping me! I growl at myself and get up, frustrated. I hate to admit it's the truth – _I'd_ been the one to kiss him, _I_ was the one that had led him on. It doesn't make an ounce of sense. It just isn't like me to be so forward with a man I barely like. Unless I _do_ like him…

_Stop thinkin' about him!_

She's right – I told him what happened between us meant nothing, didn't I? It's in the past, and it's never going to be in the future. I reluctantly focus my mind to the task at hand, the task I've been putting off for weeks now. Remy LeBeau's been a convenient distraction, but I know it's just not on anymore. This is something I simply _can't_ put off any longer. I walk over to the phone and pick it up, looking at the note tacked onto my fridge. It's the telephone number to Caldecott County General Hospital. I stare at it, my hand hovering over the handset, ready to punch in the numbers. _Just dial the damn number already, Rogue,_ _and stop stallin'!_

My finger presses the first number.

**Knock, knock.**

I set down the handset quickly, half annoyed and half relieved to have been interrupted. Grumbling under my breath, I make my way to the door and throw it open, ready to berate whoever's on the other side, only to find myself staring at Jean, Betsy and Emma, their arms laden with takeaways and other goodies.

"Surprise!" they chorus, when I reveal myself in all my glory. All I can do is stare.

"Wh-what are you guys doin' here!" I finally blab.

"What does it look like?" Emma retorts rather rudely. "Jean said you weren't feeling yourself, and since Betsy was back this morning, we thought we'd have an impromptu get-together – just to lighten your spirits. You could look a little bit more grateful, you know!"

I calm myself, feeling a little guilty. Trust the gals to always be thinking of me when I'm down.

"Ah'm sorry, Emma," I reply apologetically. "Ah'm just a bit surprised is all – Ah was just about t'…clean the kitchen. But Ah'm glad y'all came round. And Betsy! Where have yah been! Ah thought yah were comin' back yesterday!"

"I was," Betsy smiles as she hugs and kisses me on both cheeks. "But daddy extended the gala, lucky me."

"So how was it?" I ask, ushering everyone inside and shutting the door behind them, hoping the conversation will ease my mind off things. "Did your momma give yah any trouble?"

"You wanna bet?" Emma cuts in sarcastically, setting out some Chinese take-away on the table and getting out the chopsticks. "Our purple-haired ex-model here was actually so frightened of the old bat she had to _call_ me on her cell-phone just to get some advice on how to get rid of her!"

"Shut up, Emma!" Betsy pulls a face at Emma before turning back to me. "Actually, mum wasn't so bad as I thought," she replies. "It turns out I had… other things to distract me."

"Other things?" I repeat expectantly, catching her coy tone of voice.

"Oh, you know, the usual thing," she answers with a slight smile. "Meeting up with old school-friends, catching up with Brian…"

"Personally, I smell the odious whiff of 'men' around you, Betts," Emma notes with a wicked grin. "Are you sure there wasn't something more than just family and friends on your agenda, my dear?"

"Don't be an idiot!" Betsy throws back – perhaps a little too defensively, or so I think. "Why does everything have to boil down to men with you!"

For some reason Emma seems more offended than usual at the throwaway remark she's often heard from us before. She practically _bristles_ when she hears Betsy's jibe.

"Well _excuse_ me, but it seems that_ every_ time we meet up all we seem to talk about is men," Emma snaps back. "I mean, _hello_, it isn't like we haven't got a life outside those worthless, good-for-nothing, despicable creatures already, is it! I, for one, am fed up even _thinking_ about them! You want to know what I think? I think it's time you girls grew up!"

Surprised at Emma's outburst, Betsy and I stare first at her, then at each other. Emma gives an explosive snort and marches into the bathroom, refusing to explain herself any further and slamming the door shut behind her.

"Well!" Betsy proclaims, infuriated, her blue eyes flashing once an irate Emma is out of sight. "That was all a bit rich coming from the likes of _her_!"

"Ah'll say," I declare, crossing my arms and frowning heavily. "What reared up and bit _her_ on the ass?"

"Carlos," Jean replies matter-of -factly, her mouth set in a heavy line as she continues laying out the food that Emma had left in disarray on the table. "You know, that fitness instructor she was seeing for a while? She caught him with another woman in her house. She won't tell me the details, so I'm guessing she's pretty cut up about it."

"Oops," Betsy mutters under her breath. "I knew she was feeling bad, but I didn't know it was something _that_ bad."

"She'll get over it," Jean shrugs. "She _is_ a grown woman, after all." She stands up and gives me an apologetic look. "The truth is, Rogue, we've _all _feeling a bit under the weather lately, and so I was thinking that maybe the best cure would be lots of junk food, booze and a good old chat."

"Oh no!" I exclaim in concern. "What's happened to you guys? Is the wedding off? Did Betsy have a row with Neal?"

"Well," Betsy replies morosely, "Neal and I did have a bit of a tiff before I left for England. I thought he'd call to patch things up, but no such luck. So I tried to call him, and _still _no answer. So…" she shrugged with a downcast slump of the shoulders, "I guess we're finished."

"Aw, Ah'm so sorry, Betts," I say, placing a soothing arm about her. "Of all the rotten bastards, not even havin' the decency t' tell yah it's over! Sugah, y'all are better of without him!"

"That's what I said," Jean nods, stony-eyed. "It's one thing to be dumped, it's another thing entirely not having been notified!"

"And you?" I ask, eyebrow raised.

"Oh, it's nothing," she answers with her usual penchant for downplaying her own troubles. "Just a minor bust-up with Scott, nothing we can't handle."

"Are you sure?" I persist. She seems more downcast than usual, which isn't like her at all.

"Of course. You know nothing ever gets me down. Scott and I can always work things out. Besides, it's nothing compared to what you've been through, Anna. I know how upset you were the other day." She pauses and says in a lower voice. "You know, if you ever want to talk about things…"

"Ah know, Jean, and thanks," I assure her. "But Emma's right. It's time we forgot about guys once and for all! Ah don't know about y'all, but right now, all Ah want to enjoy mahself and have some fun!"

I smile and pick up the cheap cocktail bottle beside me.

"Pina colada, anyone?"

-oOo-

Betsy pushed open the door of Rogue's bathroom gingerly, only to find Emma sitting on the edge of the bathtub with a furious grimace on her face. Betsy knew full well that times such as these were not the best to tackle her man-eating friend, but since this _was_ supposed to be a party for Rogue's benefit, it really wasn't fair of Emma to be sitting around and moping.

"I'm sorry, Emma," she apologized, shutting the door softly behind her just in case Emma did decide to make a scene. "I didn't know about you and Carlos… Jean just explained everything to me and I feel such an idiot…"

"Oh, don't apologize," Emma replied, still rather ungraciously but with a less frosty tone. "I'd just rather forget the whole sorry affair. Like I said, men are scurrilous bastards and I'd rather have nothing to do with them!"

"That's a bit unfair, don't you think?" Betsy protested. "After all, wasn't it your gardener who came and saved the day?" Emma gave her a piercing look and Betsy sighed. "Look, Jean didn't want to say anything, but I wanted to apologize to you so I asked her for the whole story. And you should count yourself lucky that Bobby Drake is such a kind and considerate guy, otherwise you'd probably be feeling ten times worse!"

"Oh, I suppose you're right!" Emma finally conceded, throwing her hands up in the air. "I suppose _some_ men are worth all the endless hassle they give us. Although you _would_ say that, since you're obviously so starry-eyed!"

Betsy stared at her, not knowing what to say since she'd obviously been caught out.

"Oh, come on!" Emma prodded her, a sly grin forming on her face. "I can sniff these things out from a mile away! So who is he? Come on, don't be shy!"

It took a moment for Betsy to find her voice. Just _how_ did Emma always find out these things before anyone else did?

"Okay, okay!" she finally caved in, looking harassed. "Not that it's anything exciting. I just met this guy in England, but he lives in New York – actually not far from here – and he's gorgeous and smart and funny and kind and I think he likes me too. His name's Warren Worthington and we've planned to go out on…"

"Wait a minute," Emma cut her off mid-sentence and Betsy stopped, seeing a funny look cross her friend's face. "Say that name again."

"Warren Worthington," Betsy repeated, confused. "Why?"

Emma's eyes narrowed, and that famous vein in her temple began to twitch.

"You stay away from Warren Worthington," she commanded Betsy in a voice little boys would've run away in terror at. "Don't you step within a one meter radius of the guy, do you hear me? And whatever date you've planned, cancel it!"

"What…?" Betsy was utterly bewildered now. "Emma, what on earth are you…?"

"Betsy," Emma continued with an icy calmness. "The guy is a prick. A pompous, arrogant, _devious_ and whimpering little rich-boy, who has not an ounce of respect for _anyone_, let alone the female species."

"But…" Betsy faltered, utterly confused as to how Emma should create a picture of someone so unlike the Warren she knew. "But Emma, how can you know all this?"

"From first-hand knowledge," Emma replied knowingly. "His happens to be the company I'm trying to create a merger with, and every step of the way he's been stalling and dodging, putting all sorts of obstacles in my way and treating me with nothing less than utter disrespect! I don't care what kind of a picture he's been painting for you Betsy, but I guarantee you, it's all lies. He's going to use you, and once you get to know him better, I warrant you'll finally get to see his true colors when he ends up treating you like dirt."

Betsy said nothing, her mind in a whirl. What Emma was saying just didn't match up to her impression of the handsome head of Worthington Inc., but after all, who was she to know the true facts? Emma obviously knew him better than she did, and if she had to choose between trusting one of her dearest friends and a man she barely knew, there was really no contest.

"I can't believe it," she finally spoke. "He seemed so nice… Do you really think he'd lie just to use me, Emma?"

"Believe me, I know what the man's capable of," Emma replied ominously. "He even neglected to phone me to tell me he was away on business – twice! We had arranged two very important meetings, and he set his lawyer on me instead! I can tell you I'd never felt so humiliated or _threatened _in all my life!"

Betsy was shocked to hear all this. It suddenly dawned on her that the business associate Warren had been talking about so humorously on the plane was Emma herself. He'd made light of it, treating it as a joke. Yet here was Emma, saying she'd been _threatened_ by his lawyer! How like a dishonest and manipulative man to look upon his exploits as nothing more than a cheap laugh!

Betsy sank down beside Emma in a daze, her mind forming wild images of a devious and immoral businessman, someone who'd have his way with her and kick her to the curb when he was done. She wasn't to know that Emma, in her misplaced conceit and her anger over Carlos, had exaggerated just a little _too_ much. As it was, Betsy could only take everything her friend said at face value.

"Like I said," Emma continued darkly, "stay away from him. I doubt he has respect for you, and I doubt very much his company has a proper respect for the environment either! Trust me, Betts – you're better off without him!"

-xXx-

It's a perfect setting for one of those girly get-togethers men so often find strange and intimidating.

The four of us are sitting in a ring in my darkened living-room, the TV set on low volume in the background, _Bridget Jones_ flickering across the screen as we dig into our meals, sip our drinks, and gossip mostly about the crap in our lives. So far, it's been nearly an hour and we've managed to leave the subject of men well alone, especially since Emma agreed to come back only if we swore we wouldn't talk about them under pain of death.

Somehow, though, I should've known it wasn't going to last.

"So," Jean finally asks me, refilling everyone's glass as if she was warden of the drinks, "any news on that Remy LeBeau? Did you report him?"

I instantly freeze up inside. Of course, Jean doesn't know what happened yesterday, and she probably just brought up the subject because it was work-related rather than relationship-related. Still, a familiar sense of dread settles over me at the mentioning of his name.

"Remy LeBeau?" Betsy repeats before I can get a word in, instantly forgetting our promise to Emma. "_What_ Remy LeBeau! Excuse me, but did I miss something while I was away?"

I look at Jean, then at Emma, who's suspiciously quiet about the subject. I can't help but pout a little at her apparent knowledge. Gee, word sure travels fast in these parts!

"He's mah boss," I explain, giving Jean a pointed look, who grins sheepishly and passes me an extra helping of chow mein by way of apology. "Ah've been havin' a bit of…trouble with him," I say, not really sure of how to put it.

"_Trouble_ trouble or _romantic_ trouble?" Betsy questions eagerly, her interest already sparked. Jesus, why does it have to be _my_ love life that's always the center of attention?

"Ah'm not sure," I shrug, trying to make light of it. "Maybe a bit of both?"

"Ah, so now comes the admission that maybe romance _does_ have a little part to play in this whole affair," Jean comments, her eyes glimmering. I frown at her, saying _don't push it._

"Does this mean you have the hots for your boss?" Betsy cuts in enthusiastically. She sits back and breathes in through her teeth. "Rogue, I just don't know how you manage to play with fire all the time. You know what happened with Joe! He was your boss too. I would've thought…"

"Trust me, Ah know," I interrupt her firmly. "And that's kinda what Ah'm worried about."

"All's fair in love and war," Jean smirks. "You can't help it if the man you fancy just happens to be your boss. And what makes you say that romance has come into the equation anyhow? You seemed dead-set against it the other day."

I pause, wondering whether I should tell them or keep schtum. I hadn't intended to blab about my embarrassing faux pas at all, but I know now that whatever I say to dodge the situation, they're _never_ going to believe me. They know me far too well.

"Ah kissed him," I finally confess in an undertone, averting my gaze, feeling stupid simply for feeling stupid. There's a silence. Everyone does a double take.

"_What_!" Emma practically screams, all of a sudden now firmly out of her anti-men funk. "Lips or tongues?" she demands voraciously. I glare at her.

"Emma…!"

"Ohmigod, you _snogged _him, didn't you! I can see it in your eyes!"

I blush. As if it wasn't enough that I'm berating myself about it, I have to get the third-degree from the girls as well.

"Rogue, you simply _can't_ get away with this!" Emma insists. "I want details and I want them now! How? Where? _Why_?"

"Emma…" Jean speaks up warningly, but Emma waves her aside.

"Jean, since when has our Rogue kissed a man of her own will and volition?" She turns back to me. "It _was_ of your own will, wasn't it?" she asks.

"Well, Ah… Yes, Ah s'ppose so." I'm blushing furiously now, confused that I'm even admitting it, let alone that I even actually _committed _the foul deed.

"Well then, that must mean that you _must_ have some kind of feelings for the guy," Betsy reasons. "Don't you?"

I feel everyone's eyes on me, willing me to explain it to them when I can barely explain it to myself. A part of me fears relating the event to them, but whenever I replay it in my mind I can't deny that warm glow inside of me, as if he was still here with me, with his hands on my skin and his mouth on my mine… And it's a glow that should've gone by now, that should've been in the past if it was only for the sake of lust… But it _isn't_ gone.

_So is it something more?_

"Ah…Ah don't _know_," I reply at last.

"Well, there must be _some_ reason," Betts persists. "What's he like? What charms does he have to recommend?"

_The charm of the Devil,_ I think wryly to myself. "Well, he definitely ain't like the guys Ah've dated before," I reply slowly. "He's Cajun (and hasthe accent to go with it!), tall, tanned…has this gorgeous auburn hair, and these exotic eyes that just make a gal go weak at the knees, like he's lookin' right inside yah soul. And his body…boy oh boy does that guy have a body…" _Dammit!_ Now that I'm getting the chance, I realize just what a fine catch Remy LeBeau really is. _Yeah, and what a fine example of male chauvinism too!_ "In short, gals – he's simply drop-dead gorgeous." _Yup. A beautiful boy with a not-so-beautiful soul…_

"Sounds like my kinda man, alright," Betsy remarks, blowing a lock of hair off her face and fanning herself. "Cajun! I _love_ that accent!"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Emma protests impatiently. "It's all well and good, but it _still_ doesn't tell me how you ended up kissing the guy! And call me a nosy bitch, but I want to _know_, goddammit!"

"Ah just _don't know how_ it happened, Emma," I reply honestly, spreading my hands hopelessly. "Just one moment we were in his office and he was readin' mah report, and the next…" I falter, my cheeks now so hot I feel dizzy, as if he'd left me in a fever. I swallow hard, refusing to look at the others. "Ah thought maybe Ah was feelin' sorry for him… He had this invitation, a weddin' invitation, and he looked so… so _sad_, because obviously he'd lost this woman and Ah _knew_ how it felt to lose someone…" I pause and Jean slips an arm comfortingly round my shoulder before I continue. "…And somehow we just ended up kissin' and… …"

I trail off, and I must have a certain look in my eyes, because they all share knowing glances amongst themselves.

"Sounds to me like it wasn't just a mistake," Betts speaks up softly. "Sounds like your mind was trying to tell your body something, girl."

"Yah think it wasn't just lust?" I ask incredulously. _It can't be true…_

"What do _you_ think?" Jean asks gently. I turn away, the color still in my cheeks.

"Alright," I admit. "Ah _like_ the guy. Ah find him attractive and witty and smart… not to mention incredibly sexy. But anythin' more than that…" I shake my head vehemently, "Ah just can't see it happenin'. Besides which… the whole episode was a complete and utter mistake," I finish firmly.

"A mistake!" Emma repeats, outraged. "Rogue, when you take the initiative to kiss a man…!"

"Emma, he's mah _boss_," I interrupt quietly. "And even if there was a chance of us reconcilin' that, the guy's not interested in meh. He's a slut and Ah can guarantee he knows every woman in the company – _personally_. Ah'm just another conquest to him."

"But, couldn't that all be just hearsay?" Betsy asks desperately, and I know she's trying hard to make things right for me, for me to finally be happy. "I mean, after all, where there are good-looking men around, there'll always be jealous woman… What if he really likes you and people are spreading rumors to keep you away from him?"

"Fat chance," I reply with a wry smile. "Mah very first day at work, Ah caught him red-handed behind a filin' cabinet, makin' out with his secretary."

_And if it hadn't been for her callin' when she did yesterday, things probably would've got a lot more than just 'steamy' b'tween us_, I think, trying not to feel sore about it and remembering just how close he'd been to undressing me. It makes me wonder just how far we would've gone. It makes me wonder what would've happened if anyone had decided to walk in on us. Ugh! I guess I owe Miss. Lila Cheney something after all, even if only because she managed to preserve my honor. Pfft. Honor. Right. If I had a choice between keeping my reputation and spending one night with that insufferable man, I know which one I'd be choosing right now. And I hate myself for it.

"Besides, it's obvious, isn't it," I continue, reasoning to myself as much as to them. "He was obviously feeling put-out because this woman – whoever she is – had rejected him. And since Ah'm the first gal that comes along, Ah'm just the right thing to make him feel like he's a man again and hasn't lost his pathetic mojo after all." I shake my head dismally. "Ah just can't believe Ah fell for it."

Emma snorts and crosses her arms.

"He sounds like a real gem," she declares sarcastically. "I'm beginning to think Carlos wasn't so bad after all." She downs her cocktail ferociously. "I'll tell you one thing, Rogue – he'd _better_ like you, and he'd _better_ treat you right, otherwise he'll be hearing it from me."

"_And_ your whip, I bet," Betsy adds slyly.

"The likelihood of that happening is virtually nil," I interject before they can start arguing. "I pretty much told him I wanted nothing more to do with him this afternoon. So it's over now. Finished, done for! And Ah haveta say, I'm glad!"

"Are you sure?" Jean asks quietly. She hasn't said much, but I can tell from her tone and expression that she's concerned. I put on a brave face and nod.

"Yup. So the search is still on, gals. Remy LeBeau is _not_ the guy for me, and he never will be."

The girls look at one another, and I can read their doubtful looks from a mile away. But it ain't the fact that they're doubting my conviction that bothers me.

It's the fact that I'm doubting those convictions myself, without any help from them at all.

-oOo-

It'd been a long night, and Jean had just arrived home feeling tired but somewhat more cheerful. Just as she was fumbling with her keycard outside her apartment complex, she heard the sound of motorcycle engines coming to a stop behind her. Startled, she whirled round, only to find, to her amazement, that it was Logan getting off the bike and coming towards her.

"Logan!" she cried, almost dropping her keys. "What are _you_ doing here! How did you know…?"

"I overheard you givin' your address t' the cab driver the other night," he explained, looking a bit embarrassed about it. "Looks like I caught yer just in time." She stared at him, confused and bewildered and not a little worried at his impromptu presence. He caught her look and hastened to reassure her. "Oh don't worry, Red, I ain't gonna try any funny stuff on you. I just… well, t' tell you the truth, I just wanted to apologize. You know, for makin' you feel unwelcome the other night."

Jean blinked, suddenly realizing that since she hadn't turned up at the _Hideaway_ since that last night, he'd assumed she was angry with him – which was actually a long way from the truth…

"Logan…" she protested, but he held up his hands, stopping her.

"It's okay, I understand," he insisted. "And if you don't want to see me anymore, I respect that. You won't hear from me again. Just…" He stepped a little closer, and held out a worn slip of paper to her. "I came here to let you know… If there's anything you ever need, if you're ever in any trouble with anyone in this town… _anyone_… Just give me a call, okay?"

Jean looked down at the paper, speechless.

"Logan," she finally found her tongue, "this really isn't necessary…"

"Make this easy on me, Red. I'm still feelin' bad about the other night. This is the least I can do."

He turned then and went back to his bike, climbing on and revving up the engine as Jean stared after him in bewilderment. He fastened his helmet securely, pausing only to look back at her once.

"Take care, Jean," he said, and the next moment he had sped off.

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	13. Road to Reconciliation

**Disclaimer:** Marvel's characters. Boo hoo.

**A/N:** For those wondering - Rogue's secret from the past should be revealed next chapter...:rubs hands:

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(13) Road to Reconciliation**

"Top of this week's gossip column: - there are rumors that Ororo Munroe is currently dating one of L&L's marketing executives, Remy LeBeau, a man who is believed to be one of New York's most eligible bachelors!"

Betsy peers at me over the top of the latest issue of _Cosmopolitan_, her eyes wide. "Rogue, is this true!"

I snort with irritation as I wiggle the sheath dress over my hips and smooth it into place.

"Betsy, do Ah look like Ah know everythin' that goes on in Remy LeBeau's life? Ah hardly speak to the man!"

"Well, he _is_ your boss," she persists petulantly.

"Does that mean Ah automatically have the inside knowledge on his private life? He could be hooked up with any number of women for all Ah know!" I blow a curl out of my face peevishly, not wanting to talk about my wayward Cajun admirer if anyone paid me. "Well, whaddya think?"

Betsy puts down the magazine and peruses me for a moment.

"No. Blue just isn't your color, darling."

"Then what do you think? C'mon Betts, give me a hand here. That's why you're here after all."

"Well," she gets up and starts browsing briskly through my wardrobe. "How about this one?" She holds out an elegant gold gown I haven't _seen_ in years, let alone worn. "It'll set off those highlights in your hair perfectly."

"Hmm." I give it a doubtful look. "Ah dunno, Betts, it's just too overkill. Mr. Beaubier said it was only a small private bash, something to make the investors feel good about the project so far. Ah don't wanna look like Ah'm goin' t' the Oscars or somethin'…"

"Then how about this?" Betsy suggests, whisking out a satin, jade-green strapless sheath dress. "Not too showy, not too risqué but clingy in all the right areas… And it compliments your be-yoo-ti-ful eyes. Just right for snaring Remy and getting him out of Ororo's clutches."

"_What!_" I almost yell in surprise. "Yah think Ah care what he thinks!"

"Of course you do, luv," Betts winks. "Don't pretend you don't! You want him to look at you and think you're the sexiest creature alive, that he's never even seen a woman before he lays eyes on you – right?"

I try to give her a skeptical look but end up smiling wickedly instead.

"Betsy, sometimes y'all are just too much!"

"Well, you wanted my opinion and I'm here to give it! And I'm not having him with that Ororo Munroe when he could be with you!"

"Betsy, Ah already told you…" I begin, slipping off the blue dress and stepping into the green.

"I know. He's not the guy for you. But what's to stop you from looking good? And, dare I say it, flirting with him a little? You might just be his match."

"Ah s'ppose," I murmur. I have to admit seeing Remy on his knees and slavering at the sight of me sounds rather appealing. Besides, where's the harm in a bit of flirting? Now that I'm decided where I stand with him, it can't get out of hand. Can it?

Betsy zips up the dress for me and I give a small twirl in the mirror. The cut of the dress is classy but sexy, a silky sheath that clings to my breasts and hips for maximum devastating effect. I look good. In fact, I look more than just good, and I know it. A small smile crosses my lips. The past 24 hours or so I'd been sweating over this whole party thing. I hadn't even been invited in the first place, but Jean-Paul had insisted I make an appearance, since the board members had been so impressed with my presentation the other week. I was flattered by the suggestion, but it hadn't stopped me from scaring myself into believing I'd make a fool of myself yet again. The thought that Remy would be there had made things even worse. _But if you can beat him at his own game, it might actually make the whole night worth it, Roguey_, I think to myself.

I look over at Betsy and she looks back at me. With that one look we both agree I've found the perfect dress.

"He's going to want to eat you alive," Betsy grins conspiratorially. "You're not going to be able to keep him off you."

"_Not_ the effect Ah was goin' for, Ah'll admit," I reply, giving another twirl. "But right now… Ah don't think Ah really care."

-oOo-

Having left Rogue's apartment, Betsy had decided to spend some time in town, at first trawling through various designer boutiques, but then feeling cross with herself and deciding she really needed to look for a job. The truth was, she was feeling guilty and stupid, and here she was, tying herself down to her mother by accepting money from her when obviously she should be earning money herself.

She checked out the job sections of the newspapers with only fleeting interest. What she needed was something that matched both her lifestyle and her talents. She knew for a fact her modeling agency would've whipped her back up in a second – they'd been sorry to see one of their star employees leave so abruptly. But then, they would've asked her to wear furs and skins and other such hideous articles, and how could she reconcile that?

But those weren't the only things worrying Betsy. The foremost thing on her mind was Warren, and the terrible things Emma had said about him the night before. A part of her just couldn't believe it was true. Warren had seemed like such a nice, genuine guy. But then, many guys _seemed_ nice when actually they were fake charmers who were out for all they could get.

Still, that wasn't the impression she'd got of Warren at all…

Betsy shook her head sadly as she got into her SmartCar and headed back for home. Emma knew him better than she did – it didn't cross her mind that she should do anything but trust Emma's judgement. And if Warren really _was_ a conniving bastard who'd gone out of his way to hurt one of her best friends, then she didn't want anything more to do with him.

So why oh why was she feeling so upset about losing a man who was so obviously a pig? Was it because, for the first time in ages, she not only felt that she'd found a man who not only valued her, but made her feel _passionate_ as well? Betsy frowned. It was definitely not worth thinking about!

Just as she'd parked her car outside her apartment, her cell phone rang. Having allowed her mind to wander, she didn't even bother checking the caller before she answered it.

"Hello?" she asked absently.

"Betsy, hi! It's Warren!"

At the sound of his voice her heart immediately plummeted way down into her boots. _What was she going to say to him?_

"Oh, uh, Warren!" she cried, feigning enthusiasm. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you!"

"Well, of course you weren't," he replied jovially. "I just wanted to surprise you. In fact, I was calling about our date this Saturday. I had a venue in mind and I just wanted to make sure that you were still up for it."

Betsy hesitated, suddenly panicking. In her befuddled state of mind, she'd completely forgotten about the date they'd arranged. In the circumstances, the only thing she could do was babble.

"Oh! The date! Oh dear, I'd completely forgotten about it!" _Quick Betsy, make up a lie, ANYTHING, just get out of this mess as quickly as you can! _"Oh Warren, I feel so bad, but… I actually went and made a date with one of my friends instead and…"

This wasn't the way she'd wanted it to turn out. Even if he _was_ everything Emma had made him out to be, she just hated being on bad terms with anyone unless it was absolutely necessary, and she knew that what she was saying now was going to hurt him. And she felt awful for hurting him in that way. But then, if he was so terrible himself, why should it bother her at all?

There was a short silence as Betsy trailed off, not knowing what to say. She winced, feeling rotten to the core. After a moment, he finally said: "oh. I see." His tone was a mixture of hurt and confusion that quite distressed her. _He was so looking forward to it, I can tell, and so was I… but what if he was looking forward to it for all the wrong reasons?_

"I'm really sorry, Warren," she said quickly, hoping he'd be angry, hang up on her and go. Anything to get him to prove to her what a bastard he really was!

"It's alright, Betsy," he finally replied, and she was dismayed to still hear the wounded note to his voice. "Maybe some other time. Shall I call you back?"

"No, no…that won't be necessary. I'll call you back, okay?"

"Okay." He was killing her with that injured voice of his! She shut her eyes and prayed for him to hang up. "Bye Betts."

"Bye Warren," she blurted, and ended the call when he didn't, switching off her phone for good measure, knowing she had no intention of phoning him back. It made her feel guilty, but, she thought as she raced back up to her apartment, she was better off without him. She needed him just about as much as she needed Neal guilt-tripping her all the time!

She stabbed her key into the lock and swung the door open, only to be assailed by the strange and pungent odor of…what was that? _Roses?_ Confused, Betsy slipped off her coat, flipped on the light switch and glanced about. To her amazement she found that her lounge had been completely covered, head to toe, with bouquets and wreaths of red and white roses. She sucked in a gasp and dropped her coat and keys onto the floor.

_It's Warren, he isn't a bastard after all, Emma got the wrong end of the stick and he's proving her wrong…_

A small bunch of the blooms was lying on a nearby table and Betsy snatched it up, her heart beating painfully, wildly in her chest as she spied the tiny greeting card attached to the gaudy wrapping. _What an idiot I've been! I just lied and practically told him to go away and now this! He must think me the most ungrateful creature on the planet!_

She unfolded the card and read it. Once, twice, three times. And what she read dismayed her.

Because it wasn't Warren at all.

It was Neal.

"Dearest Betsy," she murmured to herself as she read it a fourth time, "sorry for not contacting you while you were away, but I wanted this to be a surprise. Call me asap. Neal x."

Betsy laid down the card and the bouquet with a sinking feeling in her heart. All of sudden the flamboyant and romantic gesture with the flowers seemed cheap and distasteful. So Neal hadn't wanted it to be over between them at all. He'd let her stew, he'd let her sweat, and then he'd decided to make it up with her under his own terms. First confusion, then anger filled her. _What makes him think I want him anyhow!_

Betsy tore off the card and ripped it into little bits before sinking into a nearby chair, her mind in a whirl. She thought of Warren, his cheerful, passionate countenance and how, if circumstances were different, she'd be finding comfort with him right now. And yet here she was, empty and alone.

She had Neal, and she didn't want him.

The sad fact was, she couldn't have Warren either.

-xXx-

Emma's body cleaved effortlessly through the warm water of her indoor swimming pool as she took the opportunity to relax and escape from any further introspection. After one length of the pool she surfaced, shaking her blonde locks and spraying water droplets about her. Her mind was still strangely occupied, and she didn't like it one little bit. Not least that her thoughts were constantly wandering over to Bobby Drake…

For some unbeknownst reason, the way he had looked at her after the catastrophe with Carlos reminded her just how pathetic and hollow her life really was. In fact, Emma knew it was the warmth and comfort that Bobby had provided her that finally caused to her to admit that the solitude that she thought she wanted was no more than a defense mechanism. Her entire life, she had never depended on anyone but herself, and that was the only real truth she ever knew. It wasn't so much that she was against love either, she just knew that love never lasted. She saw the pain her mother endured because of the countless affairs her father had. She saw how messed up Rogue was after that ordeal a few years ago. She saw the ridiculous changes people went through because of love, the number one example being Betsy. She'd never wanted it and she was fine with being alone and the emptiness she felt in her heart… that was until _he_ had comforted her, despite the fact that she had messed up incredibly.

Emma did one last lap before heaving herself out of the pool and going for her towel. Tossing her golden hair over her shoulders, she tilted her head to towel it dry. That's when she noticed him. Bobby, his head poking round the door, looking to see if she was inside. Emma froze instantly, thinking maybe she'd have enough precious seconds to hide somewhere, anywhere. It wasn't that she particularly minded a male seeing her half-naked, but this was Bobby.

_Yes, only Bobby, for God's sake. What's the matter with me?_

It was too late anyway. He'd already caught her eyes and seeing her in nothing but a skimpy white string bikini was enough to make him blush from what she suspected was the tip of his toes to the roots of his hair.

"Emma! Oh, shit…I'm sorry…I didn't know!" He first began to cover his eyes, then retreat through the door again. Emma stared at him, half amused, half annoyed.

"For Christ's sake, Bobby, what the hell are you doing here! You don't work today!"

His eyes wandered anywhere but her, as he battled with the need to explain himself or run away as soon as possible. "Yeah, I know. But… well, you're probably gonna think this is really stupid but I saw these on the way home and they just seemed… well, and I thought you might like them and maybe they'd cheer you up a little… well, here." He gave up stammering, stepped fully inside the room, and brought a bouquet of orchids out from behind his back, before awkwardly offering it to her.

Completely stunned by his gesture, Emma could only manage an, "oh."

"Yeah, I know it was stupid. I'm sorry I intruded on you. You look like you're probably busy anyway…" He gaped as he saw that the bikini barely covered her body and quickly averted his eyes. "Uhhh…I'll just let myself out. See you Friday, Ms. Frost," he added rapidly, turning away and preparing to run for the door before he suffered any more humiliation.

"Wait… Bobby?" Emma called out.

He turned, his cheeks burning red as he attempted vainly not to stare at her breasts. "Yes?"

"These are gorgeous," she said slowly, before looking up at him and smiling. "Thank you."

A grin began to stretch from ear to ear across his sweet face as he said, "you're welcome. I just, y'know… wanted to cheer you up."

"Yeah, well… you have," she murmured, pausing as she felt the awkwardness of the admission; not to mention the fact that he was standing there in front of her, obviously sweating because he didn't want to offend her by staring at her chest. "So," she hurried on to ask rapidly, "a lot of studying to do tonight?"

"Actually, for once, no," he answered.

"I see…" Emma set aside the bouquet slowly, wondering what to say next. "Well, maybe we could…" she began, but couldn't find herself to complete the question. It wasn't helping that she could feel her cheeks burning either.

"Hang out?" Bobby finished for her hopefully.

"Yeah," she said and glanced away, a sudden and unusual shyness overcoming her as she finally took the plunge. _Maybe he'll say no anyway, and then what a laugh you'll be, Emma…_

"I'd love to hang out," he replied as nonchalantly as he could, careful not to sound too eager or desperate. Emma couldn't help smiling in sudden relief.

"Great." She looked down at herself and realized she was still dripping with water. "If you could just wait for me in the house? I need to get ready."

"Sure," he nodded, grinning, looking glad to be finally out of the awkward situation. As he turned and began to walk away, Emma couldn't help but call out to him: "You know, Bobby, next time… If you want to look at my breasts, I don't have a problem with that. Go ahead and look."

"Thanks!" he called back absently over his shoulder, before turning and yelling: "Hey! I was _not_ thinking that!"

"Like hell you weren't," she chuckled.

"Well I wasn't!" he insisted. "Not that I wouldn't…If you wanted me to, that is," he added as an afterthought, blabbering inanely now that she'd caught him off his guard. "I mean, you're gorgeous and a guy would be crazy not to…you know…Aw, shit…"

She couldn't help but laugh. "Well, seeing as I've given you permission, it shouldn't be an issue then, should it," she replied smoothly, bending over to dry her feet and purposely giving him a view of her pert backside as she did so. By now, he must've been sweating buckets full.

"Well, uh…My eyes are kinda working overtime right now as it is, thanks a lot," he returned rather cheekily, or so she thought. She peered at him humorously and he blushed. "I'll just…go wait for you in the house now," he finished quickly, and the next moment, he'd raced out.

Emma stood and watched him go with a thoughtful look on her face. Picking up the orchids, she took a whiff and smiled. Suddenly, she didn't feel so alone.

-oOo-

I arrive at the L&L's party a little over what would be considered fashionably late. I stand outside the door of the function room and brush down the clingy green dress nervously, patting my hair to make sure it isn't falling out of the graceful knot of curls at the back of my head. Several looks in the mirror before I'd left my apartment – plus the way the cab driver had been gawking at me all the way up here – had assured me I looked suitably alluring. I was rearing and ready to go. I was going to take this bull by its horns.

I exhale a sharp breath and step into the room, taking a cursory glance around and assessing the people gathered about. Monet swans by in a flamboyant, mahogany velvet dress, passing me an obnoxious scowl. I pull a face back at her but she's already breezed past so I ignore her. Jean-Paul and Petey are talking to some of the investors, and Robert Kelly's sulking in the corner, obviously put out that he's no longer the star of the show. And then there's Remy at the opposite end of the room, deep in conversation with Ororo Munroe, who's looking sophisticated and elegant in white chiffon. I stare at them, a frown on my face as I watch him trail his fingers intimately up and down her arm. Could it be that Betsy's magazine article was right about them?

I stand there, trying to work out why exactly I'm still so hung up on him when he looks over Ororo's shoulder and our gazes involuntarily meet. He stands there and gapes, his eyes literally popping out of his head. I decide to act coy and innocently avert my gaze, a little smile of triumph tugging at my lips. When I allow my eyes to wander over in his direction again, I find he's still looking at me, his gaze so intense it's threatening to burn me up.

I've communicated enough to him, so I sashay into the room before I can transmit anything more meaningful. He's had his eyeful. Now let him work out how he's going to get more!

I find myself drawing a wave of male attention as I cross the room to join Jean-Paul and his small group. Men literally part ways for me as I pass, and I can't help but revel in it all. I can't remember the last time I've felt so sexy and desired in all my life. I have to admit that it does wonders for my confidence. I smile like a cat that's got the cream, subconsciously adding a seductive sway into my step. They're holding their breath for me and I can feel it in the air. They want me! And I know _he_ wants me too, more than all of them put together.

_Yup, Roguey, yah sure could get used to this!_

I spend the next few minutes chatting to some of the investors, who eagerly flock round me like moths to the proverbial flame. It doesn't take me long to discover the primary drawback of my little ploy – they're more interested in staring at my breasts than in listening to anything I have to say about the project. Ten minutes in and I start to wish I hadn't worn the dress after all.

I escape to the punch bowl and surreptitiously attempt to tug the neckline of the dress a little higher over my breasts. Only the darn thing won't budge. Dammit! Looks like I'm cursed with these show-stealing monstrosities for the rest of the evening! I might as well be wearing a target board!

I'm already trying desperately to bang it into my head. Rule 7:** Private business bashes and cleavages you can ski down do _not_ go together.**

I'm so distressed at my predicament that I don't even notice that indomitable Cajun steal up beside me.

"Nice dress," he half-whispers in my ear. In my surprise I nearly slosh the contents of my glass all over me, but somehow manage to be calm and dignified enough to make a straight answer.

"Nice suit," I reply as stiffly as I can. It's not a lie. If anything it's an understatement. He's in the latest Giorgio Armani and looking very delicious indeed. Only he doesn't have these infuriating appendages stuck on his chest screaming 'Hello boys!' to all and sundry in a one-mile radius! Damn him for going one better than me!

"Did you wear it for me?" he asks in a sensuous murmur. "Only I assure you…it's havin' the desired effect."

I blush when I think how near to the mark his assumption really is.

"If yah think Ah wanted_ you _oglin' mah breasts like the rest of the losers here, y'all are mistaken," I huff. I can't bear to look at him, and as my eyes wander I catch Monet scowling at us jealously from the sidelines. _Y'all are welcome to the slimeball, Miss High-an'-Mighty…_

Remy's completely unaware of the little by-play. He leans in a little closer and for once his expression is deadly serious as our gazes lock once more. It's only then that I realize it. _He hasn't been lookin' at my breasts at all… he's been lookin' at my eyes…_

"_Au contraire_, chere," he finally drawls. "While your other charms are equally fascinatin' – and I tell you true, they are – I was actually referrin' to how your choice of dress brings out de color of your eyes."

My knees start to buckle. I can literally feel them. _Darn it, he knows exactly what to say and how to say it…! Get out Roguey b'fore yah jump his bones in front of the entire party!_

I mumble a halfhearted thanks and make my escape.

Only to crash into Monet as she crosses the room towards us.

It only takes a split second before I realize the entire contents of her wineglass have splashed onto the skirt of my dress. It's every gal's worst nightmare. I let out an automatic shriek of utter horror. In the space of another half-second the whole room is audience to my humiliation. Everyone stops and stares. The women gasp and some begin to titter. That's what comes from making enemies through sexual jealousy. And it's all because I was trying to impress _him_. Remy LeBeau. _What was I thinking!_

Monet is calm – too calm, calm enough to broadcast to me that she'd done it all on purpose – as if the small smirk on her face wasn't enough of a giveaway.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry!" she gasps theatrically, making me hate her all the more. "I didn't see you coming! How clumsy of me!"

By now my cheeks are so hot you could've probably fried eggs on them. I don't waste another moment trying to tackle her. I run to the bathroom before I can open my mouth and make an even bigger fool of myself.

-xXx-

Jean-Paul Beaubier had just come out of the little boy's room to find his star guest had disappeared, and was now pacing over to the refreshment's table with a harassed look on his face.

"Remy," he demanded peremptorily of the wily Cajun, who was calmly sipping at his wine whilst wondering which girl to advance on next, "where's Anna? Did she go home? Why did she go home? Wasn't there enough to occupy her? Is it so boring? Shall I draw this whole thing to a close?"

Monet sidled up behind him, a self-satisfied smile on her cherry-red lips. "Calm down, Jean-Paul. Everything's fine. Anna just had a little accident with a drink, that's all. She's in the bathroom right now."

"What! But I need her out here! I was going to introduce her to a very important sponsor!" he burst out irately.

"Relax, JP," Remy replied, winking at a scantily clad blonde in red walking past. "If I know anyt'ing 'bout Ms. Raven, she'll be fine."

"Pity you don't know as much as you'd like," Monet threw in pointedly. He smiled, shrugged.

"No, no, this won't do!" Jean-Paul threw up his hands floridly. "I need her here now! No one can explain this thing about flowers and Nature and organic thingamabobs as well as she does! Remy, go and get her for me! Now!"

Remy only looked half-surprised. "You want me to go into de ladies room?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," Monet jibed, pressing her tongue behind her teeth and giving him a look.

"She won't listen to anyone but you," Jean-Paul reasoned. Remy raised an eyebrow.

"And you figured dis out how?"

"Don't be an idiot! She hates you! If she's holed up in the bathroom, the very sight of you will get her running. Having failed that," he added, "charm her. It always seems to work with everyone else. Now just do it! Go, go, go!"

Remy sighed dramatically and placed his glass on the table.

"JP, I t'ink you're wrong," he stated, nevertheless walking in the direction of the bathrooms. "I t'ink de last person she wants to talk to is me." He turned away and added under his breath, "Ain't gonna stop me from tryin' though."

-oOo-

It just won't come out. Of course, no amount of soap and water will get a red wine stain out of silk, any idiot knows this. But I'm so angry, so desperate and shamed that nothing can stop me from trying. I've already been laboring away for a good five minutes, holding back hot tears, before I hear the bathroom door swing open behind me.

I swirl round, thinking it's Monet coming to bitch over me. I don't mind that. I'm spoiling for a fight, if only to let off some steam. But it's Remy whose body is framed by the doorway. I pause, momentarily taken aback, before turning round and resuming my attack on the offending stain once more. _Don't say anythin', don't say anythin', don't say anythin'… _

I hear him close the door and take a step inside.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," I reply after a slight, belligerent pause. _Why the hell is he here…?_

I continue my scrubbing, my eyes and cheeks burning with anger and humiliation. I can only think he's come to watch me suffer and I want to hate him for it but I can't.

"Look, Anna," he speaks up from behind me, "I'm sorry about de dress…If dere's anyt'ing I can…"

"Why are yah really here?" I snap at him. "This is the ladies room, in case yah hadn't noticed."

"Well now, dis happens to be one of my favorite rooms of de house," he replies, the easy, seductive lilt edging back into his voice.

"Yeah, Ah guess it wouldn't be the first time yah came in here, uninvited or otherwise," I mutter sarcastically. "Didn't yah get the message, Cajun? Ah don't want t' speak to yah! Now leave me alone!"

"Actually, chere," he replies, not skipping a beat, "I was thinkin' maybe we could take de opportunity to kiss an' make up about dat little misunderstanding de other day…"

I pause, frowning in disbelief. _The nerve of this guy!_

"Ah think kissing's firmly off the agenda, don't you?" I reply indignantly.

"Shame," he drawls huskily. "'Cos y'know somethin' chere… You're one great kisser."

_That does it!_

"If all yah want is another romp on the desk, yah've got the wrong gal, swamp snake!" I explode at him. "So why don't yah go and laugh at me with all the other toffee-nosed prigs out there!" I finish, my voice unintentionally wavering as I say it. I try to hide just how upset I am. It's too late. He's already noticed. He walks over beside me, willing me to face him with those hypnotic eyes. I continue to ignore him as best I can.

"Anna," he finally speaks, "no one's laughin' at you, chere. What happened was just an accident. Everyone's been sayin' how impressed they've been wit' you. Don't take things so hard."

"Like hell it was an accident," I mutter viciously. "Monet's had it in for me since day one. She did it on purpose and now Ah've got t' go back out there lookin' like a fool. And as for them bein' impressed with me – Ah think the only things impressing people t'night are my famous 'assets'." I slap the towel down on the sink, knowing Ah'll never be able to get the stain out. "Ah've really let Mr. Beaubier down, haven't Ah?" I add in a low voice.

Before I know it he's laid a warm, soothing hand on my shoulder, and I let him, needing the comfort, the reassurance.

"Anna, you haven't let anyone down. Why d'you think Jean-Paul asked you to come tonight? 'Cos you got talent and you've got presence, and you never back down when you're in a tight corner. You go back out dere, you'll knock 'em dead like you always do."

"Yah think?" I ask in a small voice. He squeezes my shoulder.

"I _know_. B'sides," he grins amiably, looking down at the stain on my dress, "it's dried kinda nicely. De stain, I mean. Makes you look…" he shrugs, tongue-tied for once, "…avant-garde?"

I give a watery smile, knowing he's trying to raise my spirits. I'm grateful for it, but to hear him being so kind is confusing the hell out of me because it's making me feel everything I don't want to feel when I'm with him…

"Ah look hideous," I mumble miserably.

"You look beautiful," he corrects me. There's an edge to his voice, one that makes my breath catch in my throat, and he looks at me and I look at him, and suddenly I just want to give in, I want to step into the warmth of his body and raise my lips to his and kiss him so bad… He leans forward just an inch in anticipation of what we both know we want, but I quickly place a hand on his chest, trying desperately to keep the space between us.

"Ah _did_ say no kissin'," I remind him pointedly. Nevertheless my breath is quick and light, my voice thick with sudden desire, giving me away. _He just has t' look at me and he's already workin' his way under mah skin…_

He smiles, the corner of his lips forming that familiar crinkle and for once he listens, even if he doesn't back off, even if he stands there motionless with my hand on his chest, the warmth of his closeness challenging me not to let him close the gap between us, not to let him kiss me once more. His hand leaves my shoulder as his fingers tug lightly at a loose curl of white hair that's slipped free of my chignon.

"Den how 'bout de makin' up part?" he asks me softly, so softly that even his words seem to caress me and I shiver pleasurably at the sensation. "Only dis ignorin' me… It ain't really good for our workin' relationship, don't you agree?"

"Our 'working relationship' is the last thing on your mind right now," I answer in a murmur, feeling the quickening of his heartbeat through the thin material of his shirt, knowing how intimate the contact is but somehow unable to move my hand away. _He's so warm…_

"I take what I can get," he replies honestly, the smile on his face straightening so that his eyes are intent and serious upon mine. "Especially from a femme like you. You tell me what you want from me, you got it, chere. You want us to be friends, we be friends. You want somet'ing more…"

He trails off meaningfully and I meet his gaze with smoldering eyes, I just can't help myself…

"So y'all are givin' me a choice? Ah must say Ah'm flattered…"

"Tell me what you want, Rogue," he interrupts, ignoring my banter. For the first time he's used my pet name to my face, and for some reason him breaking that boundary doesn't feel bad, it feels right… I bite my lip in sudden, burning indecision, because I know if I don't bite my lip I wouldn't even be wasting time telling him what I want, I'd be kissing him and kissing all my doubt away with it…

"Ah want –" I begin, but don't get to finish since fate decides that Tabitha Smith suddenly pokes her head round the door. We don't even have time to break apart, but she doesn't even bat an eyelid when she sees me with Remy. I guess she's used to finding him in compromising positions.

"Anna, JP's going off on one out here," she warns me. "He's asking for you."

My hand slides away from his chest, his warmth, slowly, reluctantly. "Ah'll be out in a second," I say.

"You sure you're up to it?" Tabby asks. "Only I can make excuses for you if you want."

"Thanks Tabs, but Ah'm fine. Just give me a sec, okay?"

She gives me a thumbs-up before leaving us alone again. I turn away from him and give myself the once over in the mirror. I look far from perfect but it'll have to do.

"You're right, Cajun," I sigh. "Looks like this Mississippi river rat's gonna have to go play her part and put on a brave face yet again." I pass him a coy look over my shoulder. "How do Ah look?"

His gaze longingly sears across the curve of my butt before meeting my eyes again.

"You know I'd t'ink you looked sexy even if you were in dungarees and a lumberjack shirt, chere," he returns enticingly, his breath tickling against my ear. "Or even in just de shirt. Or even in nothin' at all."

I turn, pouting playfully.

"Ever wonder why Ah keep pushin' you away, swamp rat?"

"Ever wonder why I keep comin' back for more?" He steps in close, a breath away from a kiss once more. "Keep on hopin' maybe you'll figure out you like me after all…"

I press a hand against his chest again, but my touch is gentle, almost caressing as I feel the hardness of his body, and I gulp down the urge to rip that shirt right off him and… "Yah think likin' you is all it's gonna take?" I murmur thickly, my hand falling to my side once more. "Then you've got a lotta hopin' to do, sugah. 'Cos likin' someone is just a little less than what Ah'm lookin' for."

I swing away from him and walk to the door, leaving him to stew over my words. I place my hand on the door handle and he stops me, saying: "Then I'll be hopin', Anna, real hard. For de both of us."

I smile to myself before pressing down on the handle, and after a split second of indecision I finally find the courage to close the door behind me.

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	14. All Fall Down

**Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Marvel. For those of you who take exception to what Marvel are doing to those characters right now, think of this story as a refuge. A refuge where you know everything's going to turn out all right in the end. Where the writers know of the Romy fans needs. This is your sanctuary. Stop hyperventilating, stop gnawing on your comics, grab your nearest cup of whatever beverage you enjoy most, sit down and read on. We'll try not to disappoint. ;)

Ludi and angyxoxo xx

-xoxo-**

* * *

**

**Mix 'n' Match**

**(14) All Fall Down**

The next morning dawned too bright and too early for Emma Frost. Usually she was up with the sunrise and bustling about the house like a miniature whirlwind. Only for some reason, the sunlight pouring in through her bedroom window was hurting her head, and her digital clock was reading 11:54.

She groaned and swiveled over onto her side, away from the sunshine. She had a beast of a headache, throbbing through her temples and right behind her eyes.

Wait a minute. _A headache?_

In one swift movement Emma was sitting up in bed, only to have her plush bedroom careen before her eyes like a carousel. She groaned again and placed a hand to her head. It took several moments for her vision to clear and she was finally able to take a good look around her. And what she saw disturbed her very much. Two empty wineglasses had fallen onto the floor beside her, along with two more bottles of her best Chardonnay, while one more stood on the bedside table next to the vase of orchids she'd received the night before. Her best lacy cream bra and panties were strewn across the floor, and the romantic pink nightlights were on. In the background, her 24 inch plasma screen TV still displayed the title screen of her _Basic Instinct_ DVD.

But worse of all, under the covers of her bed and totally out for the count, lay a comatose Bobby Drake in nothing more than his birthday suit.

That was when Emma realized that she was completely starkers too.

Under the circumstances, there was only one thing she could do.

And that was to announce very loudly and emphatically: "Oh, _shit_."

-oOo-

It was lunchtime in a small but avant-garde New York cafe, a charming little hideaway where they played the familiar old jazz melodies that always brought a smile to Remy LeBeau's face. Today, however, the smile was due to more than just fond memories replayed to the softly accented strains of Ella Fitzgerald and Thelonius Monk. From where Jean-Paul Beaubier was sitting, it looked very much like the grin of a man who was indulging in daydreams of a more suggestive kind.

"So," Jean-Paul ventured to ask over the rim of his cafe latte with an extra sprinkling of cinnamon, "is it true what the tabloids are saying? Are you really dating Ororo Munroe?"

Remy idly stirred his cappuccino and gave a nonchalant shrug. "Well, I wouldn't call it dating… Dating is such a formal way to put it, don't you t'ink?"

"Oh, so it's like that, is it?" Jean-Paul replied sardonically. He paused a moment, weighing the statement in his mind before continuing: "So I take it you had a good time last night?"

"You know me, JP," Remy replied smoothly as he lifted the cup to his lips. "I always do." He placed the cup down and continued with a slight grimace: "Although, if I have to be honest, I was hopin' I'd be leavin' de party wit' a certain someone else…"

Jean-Paul gave him an eagle-eyed glance. "Who? That blonde in the red dress? I_ thought_ I saw you not-so-tactfully eyeing her up at the refreshment's table…"

Remy gave a short laugh. "What, her? JP, you are_ way_ off de mark."

"Oh really?" Jean-Paul arched an inquisitive eyebrow at his friend and employee, unable to conceal his probing glance any longer. Remy couldn't help but smile at his boss' suddenly ravenous expression. If there was anything JP adored, it was hearing all about his friend's love lives – and gossiping about them afterwards.

_Now I know what he does when he goes down t' visit de ladies in de typing pool… He's jus' lookin' for a good ol' chin-wag… _

"Let's jus' say I've been concentratin' my efforts in other areas much closer to home," he finally replied, a twinkle in his eye. He knew he couldn't hide things from his boss much longer. Where romance was concerned, nothing could be kept a secret from Jean-Paul Beaubier. He was like the proverbial greyhound, always sniffing out a love affair, however well concealed. So Remy wasn't surprised when he was able to guess the object of his desire with little hesitation at all.

"You mean closer to home as in a green-eyed brunette whose desk is opposite your office door?" he asked without missing a beat. Remy's reply was to grin. Just the thought of Anna Raven made him want to smile to himself with glee, the kind of smile that a small child has when he thinks of unwrapping a long-awaited present. It was true he'd gone home with Ororo Munroe the night before, but nothing had happened between them – well, not a lot that counted anyway. He'd much rather have been with Anna, but she was going to take a lot more work before she succumbed to his charms. It almost surprised Remy that he was willing to invest so much in one woman, but he'd never been presented with a morsel as delicious as her before. For the best part of a week now she'd been occupying all his sordid fantasies, and if he didn't have her soon he was going to go crazy.

"C'mon, JP," he reasoned, seeing his boss' slightly disapproving look, "she's just about de hottest woman in de company. You t'ink I'm gonna let a chance like dat slip past?"

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes theatrically. "Oh yes, I forgot, here's the guy who just can't resist a challenge. The bigger it is, the less he can say no."

"Quoi? Don't you approve? I thought you always said I had excellent taste in women. Not dat you know much about taste in women… but you know I've always valued your opinion since you be de resident expert on relationships. Sometimes you know so much about dose flings de typing pool ladies have it scares me," he added, half joking and half shuddering at the thought.

JP shrugged good-naturedly. "Women like to talk about their men," he answered with a smile. "You should try talking to the girls some time, you might find it informative."

"No t'anks. When I go down to de typing pool, it ain't to do no talkin'."

"And Anna would approve of that?"

"Once I show Anna what I show de ladies down at de typing pool, she'll approve of anything I do," Remy boasted without batting an eyelid. JP shook his head hopelessly and gulped down the rest of his drink.

"Remy, you're really pushing it this time. Has it escaped your notice that she hates you?"

"Au contraire, mon ami," Remy assured him smugly, "I really t'ink I may be in wit' a chance dis time."

"Oh really? Here I was thinking you always had _more_ than just a chance with the ladies, and now you're suddenly dealing in uncertainties? I don't know what happened between you two last night, but whatever it was, she's toying with you. If she'd really wanted you, you would've gone home with _her_, not Ms. Munroe. Remy, admit it. That girl has you wrapped round her little finger."

Remy chuckled, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Hopefully, within de next couple of days, I'll be wrapped round more den just her li'l finger," he quipped.

"Pfft. And what exactly brought on this tide of optimism anyway? Wasn't it only a couple of days ago that she was giving you the brush off?"

Remy gave an easy grin while Jean-Paul signaled for the bill. "All it took was workin' a lil' bit of de old mojo. Besides, you know what dese femmes are like. When dey say no dey mean yes an' all dat. And honestly, JP, she wants me so bad I can taste it. How much you wanna bet in de next two days she'll be mine?"

"_Yours_? You only want her in your bed," Jean-Paul remarked accusingly.

"Mebbe. So? Lookin' at de way dat lady cleaned up last night, what man wouldn't?" He gave a wistful smile.

"You're trying to convince the wrong guy, Remy," the older man pointed out wryly. "Although I will admit there's something rather distracting about our Ms. Raven – there has to be if she's kept your interest this long. And in a way, that's what worries me, Remy. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Remy gave him a slightly offended look. "Why, JP, you doubtin' my prowess?"

Jean-Paul couldn't help but laugh. "Your 'prowess' has nothing to do with it! I just want to know you're sure you know what you're going to do once you've had your way with her." He paused, not knowing whether to venture his next question. "Or does your interest extend further than just a roll in the haystack?"

For the first time that morning, Remy looked flustered.

"Whaddya mean?" he inquired indignantly.

"I mean, if it _does_, you'd better be careful," Jean-Paul answered seriously. "Don't forget, it wasn't so long ago that you came here needing a job and a place to stay after what happened with –"

"I know," Remy cut in quickly and just as seriously. "And I t'ank you for dat, JP, but you ain't got not'ing to worry about. I got dis one under control."

"Alright. I'll take your word for it. And believe me, it's not that I don't approve of her. She's a great girl – looks, brains, personality. You know – the kind of girl a guy could easily fall head over heels for?"

"Don't t'ink m'heart's wired that way anymore, JP," Remy returned soberly.

"So you say. But she's not the one going all starry eyed over _you_, is she? Come on, admit it. You _like_ her, LeBeau – I can tell from a mile away."

"I –" Remy began, but Jean-Paul cut him off quickly.

"Save it, loverboy. She's more than just a choice piece of ass to you, I know it even if you don't. You just better be careful she doesn't find out before you do." He stood up and slapped his tip on the table, ignoring the childish pout on Remy's face. "Otherwise," he continued, "I give you two my blessing. Just _please_ keep the hanky-panky _outside_ of the office for a change, d'accord? You want some action, take it outside."

"Okay," Remy replied petulantly.

"Bon. Now I simply must get back to the office. I have some important business that just can't wait."

"Like dat new delivery boy?" Remy interjected slyly, glad to finally get his own back.

"Now, now, Remy, do behave," Jean-Paul replied innocently. "My 'prowess' isn't nearly as legendary as yours."

"Riiight. And by the way… one day you're gonna have to tell me exactly what de ladies at de typing pool say about me."

Jean-Paul laughed. "Such vanity, Remy! You'd better be careful what you ask for – you might just get it! And let me tell you, what you hear just might make your ears burn."

"All the more reason to know," Remy chuckled.

"I should've known you'd say that. Okay, I'll oblige you sometime, I promise."

"Can't wait. Later, JP."

"Later, Remy."

-xXx-

The piercing ring of the alarm clock going off jolted Bobby Drake from his feverish slumber. To say he was surprised to find himself naked and in an unfamiliar bed would be an understatement. Confused and suffering from a raging hangover, it was all he could do to get himself to sit upright.

"What the hell is going on here…" he murmured to himself, shooting a red-eyed glance at the clock on the elegant mahogany bedside table. It was one in the afternoon. He was supposed to be in class in an hour. Which wouldn't be so bad if he was actually in his own house and…

_Ohmigod I'm in Emma Frost's bedroom!_

Bobby literally leapt out of the plush king-sized bed and stepped right onto his missing boxer shorts. Very much perplexed, he slid into them, silently scanning the room for any evidence that could help him piece together why exactly he was there. Emma herself was absent – obviously she'd gone to work, so he couldn't ask her what the hell was going on. But there were other clues lying about the room. Wineglasses, Chardonnay bottles… women's underwear…

Bobby put a hand to his head and winced. He seemed to recall Emma inviting him up to her bedroom the night before… Her slipping a DVD on, pouring them both a glass of wine while they sat on the bed and laughed and joked and chatted… then pouring another… and another… And then the notion crossing his mind that maybe he could steal a kiss from her and get away with it…

And after that everything else was a big, unfortunate blank.

"Oh my God," Bobby mumbled to himself in disbelief. "I think I just scored."

-oOo-

It had been a hectic day at work and Jean arrived home to be welcomed by a lonely and cold apartment. Having divested herself of coat, keys, purse and heels, she flopped onto her couch and stared up at the ceiling for a long while. On the mantelpiece the clock was ticking the monotonous tune of hours and minutes bleeding away. She closed her eyes and gave a heavy sigh.

_What I wouldn't do for a distraction tonight…_

Her mind involuntarily wandered over to the Hideaway, and more specifically to Logan. Tired and lonely, she felt too weak to continue denying that she found him attractive. And yet she didn't know why. What was it? His passion, his sensitivity, his worldliness? She wanted to talk to him again. She wanted to ask him about the things he had done and the places he'd seen, about the people he'd known and the loves he'd lost. She barely knew a thing about him, and yet somehow she knew he had so much to tell, so much to show her.

_And I do have his phone number…_

Her eyes fluttered open, and she found herself staring into the white expanse of her ceiling. Almost unconsciously she reached inside her pocket for the ragged piece of paper. She lifted it up to her face and scrutinized the numbers, one by one. It was stupid really – she didn't know why she'd wanted to keep this stupid bit of notepaper so close to her person, even while she'd been at work. Silly as it sounded, it was a comfort to her, knowing someone was willing to look out for her. And, maybe, share some time with her.

She sat up and reached for the cordless phone, but as soon as it was in her hands she found her fingers dialing Scott's cell phone number. The ringing tone sounded for a long time, longer than usual. She gritted her teeth, begging to hear her fiancé's voice again, hoping in her heart that she'd no longer have an excuse to phone Logan.

_Pick up, Scott, please pick up, please don't let me be alone now, please pick –_

"Jean?"

She almost jumped in her seat, her heart beating wildly.

"Scott! Ohmigod, you are there, thank God!"

"Jean?" His voice was a mixture of concern, of trepidation. "Jean, are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine." She paused, hearing the odd note in his voice, puzzled at its presence. "I just… Well, you took so long to answer, and I really needed to speak to you –"

"Is this about the wedding arrangements, Jean?" he cut in. "Because I already told you, Monday is the latest I can –"

"What? No, of course it's not anything to do with that!" she retorted with sudden exasperation. "What, can't a girl phone her fiancé just to hear his voice once in a while?"

"Oh, my God…I- I'm sorry, Jean." For once, he really did sound contrite. "It's just…I dunno, it's been such a hectic week and I wasn't thinking and…"

He was suddenly interrupted by someone talking in the background. The words weren't clear to Jean, but the tone of voice was. It was female, low, unmistakably seductive. Jean's brow furrowed as she heard Scott place a hand over the mouthpiece and say something muffled. It was a moment or so before he returned.

"Jean, I've got to go, this isn't a good time…"

"Who's that?" she inquired sharply. "Who's there with you? Are you in the hotel?"

"Yes, I'm in the hotel," he replied, his tone suddenly flustered. "Look, honey, it's not what you're thinking. Her name's Madelyne Pryor and she's a work colleague from our sister company."

"What, and she just _happens _to be in your hotel room with you?" Jean cried shrilly, her heart thudding wildly against the wall of her chest. "Scott Summers, you are some bad liar!"

"Jean, please! You're sounding hysterical now!"

"Well, excuse me, but how to you expect me to react when I find my fiancé has a strange woman in his room!"

His voice wavered as he attempted to remain calm without much success. "It's nothing, I swear it, Jean."

"Alright." She tried to level her breathing, tried to tell herself she was overreacting and that this was all just a misunderstanding… "So what is this Madelyne Pryor doing in your room then? Are you discussing some important business proposal or something?"

"Jean, do you know how goddamn _jealous_ you're sounding?"

"Right now, Scott, I don't care how I'm sounding. Just tell me. _Why is that woman in your room_?"

He paused, let out a ruffled sigh, began: "Jean… Look. There's _nothing_ going on. Please believe me, honey. Listen, I can't really talk about this now. But I swear I'll phone you back later, tell you what's going on. I swear it."

"If it was so innocent between you two, then why can't you tell me now!" Jean practically exploded again, unable to control her temper any longer, hard though she had tried.

"Because I _can't_," he replied peremptorily, also beginning to lose his temper. "Look Jean. This really is a bad time. I have something to sort out here, something really important. I'll phone you tomorrow, okay? Trust me."

"Don't you dare put the phone down on me, Scott Summers – " she began, but it was too late. The next moment she was talking to the dialing tone.

Jean stared at the handset in a daze, feeling an abrupt wave of nausea envelop her. She could hardly believe it, and yet it seemed that it was true.

_Could it be…could it be that Scott's been having an affair?_

The thought made her sick to the stomach. It wasn't true. She couldn't believe it. But then why had he put the phone down on her so quickly? And why had that woman been in his hotel room with him?

Jean placed the phone back in its cradle, hot tears springing to her eyes and trickling deliberately down her cheeks. What was it that Scott had said before he'd hung up?

_Trust me._

She almost smiled at the irony of it. How could he believe she'd ever be able to trust him now?

-xXx-

I'm alone at work and it's 6 O'clock. I should've gone home an hour ago.

It's been like this a lot recently. I've been spending more and more nights at work, toiling over my project. At first Pete and Kitty would stay and help me, but recently they've started spending more and more time together God knows where. So I sit here at my desk and do the work by myself. I don't mind it. In fact I kind of like it. For one thing, I'm actually doing something I enjoy.

I glance at my watch, just as a shadow in the office opposite catches my eye. It's Remy. I place my pen down slowly and watch him cross the room before sitting at his desk to work.

He's the second reason I like staying over after-hours.

Yup. I've done this before, sat here late in the evening, watching his shadow, feeling foolish and childish for doing so. But tonight's different. Yesterday, at the party, when I was standing so close to him, gazing up into those beautiful eyes of his, I realized something. I like him. I like Remy LeBeau.

Okay, okay. I more than just like him. I fancy him something rotten. In fact, I can't remember the last time I felt this way about anybody. Sure, he's an exasperating skirt-chaser, but there's something about him I just can't help but be drawn to. His eyes, his voice, his smile, his body…

I exhale a longing sigh.

Sometimes I wonder if he's looking out for me the way I look out for him, if he knows I'm sitting here waiting for him. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be with someone like him, someone so passionate and sexy and breathtakingly masculine, and sometimes I wonder what he'd do to me if I ever gave him the chance to show me just how masculine he really is, if I'd ever be good enough for him to say he wants something more than just a fling… …

Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gonna stop sitting here, waiting for something that's never going to happen.

Rule 8: **STOP FANTASIZING ABOUT BOSS! **

I sigh, gather up my papers, slip on my coat and grab my purse. I'm being a total idiot. He's not going to come out. He's not going to sweep me off my feet and profess his undying love for me. Last night was all just a bunch of sweet nothings. I'm better off without him.

So why can't I stop thinking about the way he'd kissed me, the way he'd held me so close, the way he'd touched me and left me wanting more every night since?

I shake my head violently as I walk off down the corridor. _Rogue, it was only a moment of pure lust! Get over it!_

Because after all, it's all well and good admitting I find him attractive, but when nothing can come of us, what's the use in even brooding about it?

I'm about to turn the corner when someone calls me from behind. I turn and see Lila Cheney, Remy's secretary, beckoning me over with a frantic gesture.

"What is it?" I ask, approaching her.

"Phone call for you." She looks flustered. Looks like she'd just been ready to go home before the phone had gone off and interrupted her.

"For me? Who is it?"

"Didn't say. Must be your folks though, since they've got the Southern accent and all. Sounded pretty urgent." She pauses, heaving one of her bags over her shoulder. "Listen, could you lock up with the spare key once you're done? I've gotta go. Got an important date to keep."

"Sure," I reply. My insides are churning. Ever since she'd mentioned the word 'folks' I'd stood rooted to the ground like ice. My mind instinctively goes back over the letter I'd ripped up and thrown away without a second glance, the one from Caldecott County General Hospital. _Please don't let it be…_

I watch Lila walk off and slide into her room with my heart thudding ominously in my chest. The phone handset is lying haphazardly on her desk. I pick it up slowly, dreading the moment, and place the receiver to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Anna Raven?" The woman's accent is Southern alright, but the voice is unfamiliar.

"Yes?"

There's a slight pause, one that tells me that the news I've been dreading has finally come true. I steel myself, knowing full well that it's too little, too late.

"Anna Raven, this is the Caldecott County General Hospital." She stops and I know what's coming, and a lump forms in my throat and I try to speak but I can't say a thing.

"Ms. Raven, we regret to inform you that your fiancé, Cody Robbins, passed away peacefully just a few minutes ago."

-oOo-

Remy looked up from his paperwork to find that Rogue had disappeared.

For the best part of an hour he'd been watching her silhouette through his office window as she'd been working on her project. The past few nights or so she'd been doing the same thing – staying over late, sitting in the same place, always keeping in his sights. It was a strange form of comfort to him, as if she were sitting there, all alone late in evening, just for him.

Jean-Paul was right. He was crazy. He was crazy for her. He was losing his head over one woman, and he'd done that once and got burned. Never again. He'd promised himself that. It didn't have to be any different with Anna. He swore that once he'd sampled the goods he'd let her go, forget her, move on. But he had to have her first.

That was why he'd been sitting here, trying to figure out the best way to catch a lady who was obviously playing hard to get. Sometimes he'd watch her until she left. He'd screw up the courage to stop her once she got to the corridor, but he'd always chicken out and she'd leave before he could change his mind. The sad truth was, he didn't really know what he'd say to her once he stopped her.

_Anna, what happened de other day in my office… it was great, it really was somethin' else, an' I've been thinkin'…maybe you'd like t' come back t' my place for a coffee t'night?_

Remy shook his head. Way too cheap for a classy lady like her…

_Anna… I really care about you and I was thinkin', maybe I could take you out t' dinner some time…_

This sounded much better to Remy's expert ears, but it did involve the distinct disadvantage of having to admit – horror of horrors – that he actually _cared_ about a girl… which wasn't so bad in itself, since he'd said it plenty of times before, only those times, they'd been lies. And this time he was half scared to admit that it just _might_ be the truth.

_Dammit, Remy, it don't matter what you say, if you're just gonna sit here all day an' avoid de femme, you're never gonna stand a chance in hell anyway!_

He resolved right then and there that, no matter how certain he was she was going to reject him, he'd be darned if he wasn't going to try his hardest to make her his. He stood up. He was ready. He was going to tackle her whether she liked it or not.

Then he looked outside the window to find her silhouette had disappeared. She'd gone.

Panic gripped him. He rushed outside to catch her before she got to the elevators; but just as he ran past Lila's room, he heard her unmistakable voice. Only it sounded different. It was thin and wavering.

"Alright. Thanks for lettin' meh know. Yes, Ah'll be down in the next coupla days. Thanks again. Bye."

He stopped and poked his head round the door, just to see her putting the phone receiver back into its cradle. Her head was bent and her hand was shaking. She raised it to her face and a sob shuddered through her body.

Immediate and instinctive concern washed over him. He stepped into the room without thinking, wondering what had upset her so much.

"Anna?" he called. She jumped when she heard his voice and turned to face him quickly. He was shocked to see tears gathering in her eyes.

"Oh… Mr. LeBeau… Ah'm sorry." She wiped at her eyes fiercely but it didn't do much good as the tears began to spill almost of their own accord. "Ah…Ah didn't see yah there…"

"Are you okay?" he asked, distressed to see her tears. "What happened?"

"Oh, uh, nothin'…it's nothin', really. Ah'll be fine in a…in a…" He got nothing more from her, however, because she broke down completely and began to weep without restraint. Instinct got the better of him and he went over to her quickly, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her gently in his embrace, running his hand through her hair. For several minutes neither said anything and then her tears subsided. Slowly, reluctantly, he unwrapped his arms from her and she slumped, wordless into a nearby chair, her face haggard, her eyes glazed. He knelt beside her, watching her for some sign, but she said nothing for a further minute or so and he began to become concerned again. He was confused, bewildered. He simply didn't know what to do with a reaction so extreme as hers.

"We need to get y' home," he finally said. No reaction. "Anna, y' can't stay here. Y'gotta go home, get some rest. C'mon, chere, I'll drive you home."

Her only answer was to drop her face into her hands and begin crying again. He swallowed. Now he was really becoming worried.

"Anna, I ain't gon' leave you here. Lemme get you home, chere. At least lemme call you a cab." He couldn't leave her, not in that state. The more she cried the more concerned he became for her. Whatever she'd heard, whatever the person on the phone had told her, it was tearing her up. He knew he wouldn't get another coherent word out of her, not for some time yet. "You wan' cry den fine," he finally said decidedly, standing up. "But I ain't gon' let you cry here all by your lonesome." He tugged on her coat gently, trying to get her to stand up. "I take you back wit' me, okay? We get you all nice an' comfortable, get you somethin' to drink, an' b'fore you know it you'll be right as rain. 'Kay?"

He didn't think he'd get a reaction from her, but she gave a nod, a slight one, and he helped her to her feet and escorted her out of the building. By the time they'd got to his car she was calmer but still dazed. Remy kept an eye on her all the way back to his place, but she remained silent, her hands nervously clutching the tissues between her fingers.

Remy turned his eyes back onto the road, grimaced. Whatever she'd learnt had shocked her, he knew that – but there was no way he was going to let anyone get to her again, not if he could help it.

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	15. Sex, Lies and Misunderstanding

**Disclaimer:** The X-Men are copyrighted to Marvel, we do not own them in any way, nor do we pretend to.

**A/N:** Yes, we sure took our sweet time again. Dunno whether this chapter is worth the wait (if indeed any of you are still waiting out there ;p), but here it is anyway. Please leave your comments and let us know your thoughts on the story so far - and what you'd like to see in the future... ;)

-xOx-**

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(15) Sex, Lies and Misunderstanding**

This wasn't how Remy had envisioned this.

If he'd had to make up a scenario that involved him, Anna, and his expensive place downtown, it would've involved a romantic dinner for two, lots of wine, a dessert consisting of her entwined in red silk sheets, and _perhaps_ a generous lashing of strawberries and cream as an added bonus.

What he got now was a dazed and disheveled woman who simply looked around his apartment in confusion. But it was her, and even if they _were_ lacking in romance, if he was that one inch closer to having her then it couldn't be a bad thing at all.

"Y' sit down, chere," he ordered her. "Make y'self comfortable."

She stood in the middle of the lounge, coat still on, purse and tissues clutched in her hands as if she hadn't heard him. He cleared his throat, said: "I make you a drink, neh? Whatever y' want, okay? Just say de word…" No answer. "I'll make y' some tea," he finished, and hurried towards the kitchen.

He watched her sit down slowly on the nearby couch as he made her drink. She cut a lonely figure, sitting forlornly in the middle of his sparse home, where so many woman had sat before while he got them the prerequisite glass of wine before settling down to whisper sweet nothings in their ears. Yet here he was making Anna Raven tea like a fussy old mother hen.

_Y' goin' soft, LeBeau…_

He decided it was best to try the wine approach later.

He finished the cup of tea and went over to hand it to her. She took it, staring down into the cup as if she didn't know what it was for.

"If there's anythin' else you need…" he began. She shook her head before he could finish.

He left her, sensing she'd rather be by herself for the time being. He went up to his study, lit a cigarette, poured himself some whiskey and tried to catch up on some paperwork; but all the while his mind was on her. He knew she was upset – just looking at her was enough to confirm that – but he hadn't a clue as to _why_. He figured he was better off not prying. Rogue was the kind of woman who liked to fight her own fights, and she'd be darned if she complained to anyone about her humdrum life – least of all him. He wanted to help her, but knowing their track record it was probably best he kept his mouth shut.

_Forget about helpin' de femme, LeBeau, y' promised y'self you wouldn't get involved, right? Just move right on in dere and lay on de charm. Comfort her. Make her trust you. Make her believe you de only one who can kiss her better._

Remy stared pensively into the bottom of his glass of bourbon, turning the thoughts over in his mind, knowing it would be easier to seduce her now than ever before. She was upset, defenseless. She was vulnerable. She was exactly where he wanted her.

His hazy reflection frowned back at him.

_Dis ain't right…_

Remy sat back and downed the rest of his drink. He wasn't going to. It was too easy. It wasn't worth it.

He wasn't going to take advantage of her.

_Yup, _he thought wryly to himself,_ y' really goin' soft, LeBeau._

-oOo-

Night had descended on New York with a thickness punctuated only by the neon lights of the city. Out in the twilight, Warren Worthington killed the engine of his black Jaguar and looked up at the unfamiliar block of fashionable apartments. For about the tenth time since setting out on this trip to see Betsy, he questioned whether he was doing the right thing. After all, she'd canceled their date on Saturday with suspicious alacrity, and he hadn't even bothered to call her before coming out for fear he'd be rejected again. But he couldn't have mistaken the signs. The looks she had given him, the smiles, the touches. And besides, he couldn't stand another night without knowing where he stood with her. He had to know.

Warren got out of his car, secured it and strode towards the building, checking the notepaper she'd given him, the one with her address scrawled on in her neat and even calligraphy. Even her handwriting reminded him of her presence – tall, graceful, elegant. She was wasted not being a model, he thought. He'd have to do something about that.

He took the elevator up to her floor with a curious nervousness growing inside him. Warren was seldom nervous, and never with women. He'd played the playboy lifestyle hard and fast for some years now, much to his mother's eternal dismay. Women literally fell on top of one another to be in his bed, and though he was never the type to take advantage of women, he was used to having his way with them. But Betsy was different. He hadn't expected her to play hard to get, yet here he was, doing the chasing himself.

He arrived at her door, taking a quick second to straighten his tie and smooth back his unruly blond hair before ringing the bell.

_Why is it that I feel like I'm being beaten at my own game_, he thought wryly.

The patter of quick, light footsteps and a familiarly accented 'I'm coming!' told him it was her. Despite his nervousness he heaved a quick sigh of relief as the door was finally flung open to reveal the woman he'd been thinking about ever since he'd parted from her what felt like weeks before. There she stood in the doorway like a vision, draped in an elegant dressing gown of lilac satin, loose hair tumbling over her shoulders in a tousled cascade. She wore no mascara, no makeup, and yet his breath caught involuntarily at the sight of her. He'd seen her face a thousand times before on billboards, magazines and commercials, but none of those did justice to what he now saw before him.

"Warren!" she cried, her violet eyes wide with astonishment.

"Surprised?" he asked, his nervousness vanished now that he was in her presence once more. She gaped, tongue-tied, not knowing what to say.

"I'm, uh, well, yes actually…I'm very surprised." She faltered off, lost for words, her eyes darting towards his then away again as if embarrassed. He searched her face, wondering why she was suddenly so uneasy. They'd never had that problem before. At last she straightened, saying rather coldly: "What brings you here?"

"Well, to see you of course," he replied, his smile fading a little at her now severe countenance. "Can I…May I come in?"

She was silent a moment, indecision on her face before she finally held the door open for him rather ungraciously. "I suppose so," she said, standing aside. Though puzzled at her coolness, he stepped over the threshold, giving the place a cursory glance around. As he'd suspected, the room was impeccably furnished with a few antique pieces here and there, no doubt inherited from her ancestors in the Braddock family. Behind him, she shut the door, closing him inside her sanctuary. Everywhere he stepped he was lost in her perfume. Once again his resolve began to fail.

"Nice place," he commented, trying to make small talk.

"Thanks," she replied, her tone non-committal. He was confused. She still hadn't moved away from the door, as though she expected him to leave any minute. He turned back to face her, wanting to question her motives, wanting to ask her what he'd done wrong; but he could find no words. All the while she'd been reluctant to meet his eyes, but when he said nothing she was forced to speak first.

"So…" she began stiffly, awkwardly, "what was it you came for?"

He was even more confused. All the signs he was sure he'd read before had disappeared. It was as if she were a stranger. In spite of his confusion, he began to feel annoyed and not a little hurt.

"Sorry, but I seem to have missed something here," he spoke sarcastically. "Only I thought you'd be happy to see me, Betsy, but obviously that's not the case. Is there something I've done wrong?"

He thought she'd show some guilt, some remorse, since to his knowledge her treatment of him was utterly unfounded. But instead her violet eyes hardened at his words.

"Well, for a start you could've phoned me before you came. I wasn't expecting you at all."

"I figured it'd be better this way," he remarked, bristling at her confrontational tone, "since you've obviously been avoiding me."

"_Avoiding_ you!" she flared up, her eyes flashing, but he cut in before she could continue.

"Come on, Betsy, let's be frank here. We both know that the excuse you gave me the other day was a lie! You blew me off and didn't even give me a proper explanation! If you didn't want to see me, you could at least have given me a real reason why!"

She fell silent at his accusation, her cheeks suddenly reddening with guilt as she realized she'd been caught out. "I don't owe you an explanation for anything," she retorted petulantly, the fire of challenge in her gaze, a fire that made her ten times more beautiful than she already was. Somehow that spurred him on, made him bolder.

"I think you do, Betsy," he replied hotly.

"_Excuse_ me…!"

"Oh come on, Betts, give me some credit! Normally I don't mind a girl giving me the brush off, but when she leads me to believe that there could be something more between us, when she flirts and gives me signals that I'm supposed to interpret as interest and then blows me off the very next day, isn't that more than just a little deceptive?"

He'd expected her to stutter her way round an excuse but instead she went on the defensive, her expression one of contempt as she regarded him.

"Well that's rich coming from you, Mr. Worthington!" she retorted vehemently.

"_What_?" he cried in frustration. "Betsy, what am I supposed to have _done_? Please, enlighten me here. I just don't get it. As far as I was concerned, everything was going fine between us. Then all of a sudden, for no reason or rhyme whatsoever, you cancel our date with some half-baked story about forgetting we even made it! Was I so unimportant to you? Because forgive me if I'm wrong, but you gave me the impression that the opposite was very much the case!"

Her countenance suddenly changed from angry to harassed. She looked away sharply, her eyes glinting, her jaw set. "I hardly know a thing about you," she muttered caustically, before turning and shooting him another fierce glance. "And _you_ hardly know a thing about _me_, so why should your interest in me be anything but suspect!"

"Oh, so is _that_ what this is all about? You think I'm untrustworthy?" His tone was one of disbelief. "Alright, so I've been with a few women in my lifetime. But I've never taken advantage of any of them, and I certainly never intended to take advantage of you!"

"Really?" she retorted bitterly. "And how am I supposed to believe you?"

"How?" He gave an explosive sigh, frustrated, perplexed. "Because up till this point, I've done nothing to even _suggest_ that I had anything but honorable intentions towards you. Or have I? For God's sake Betsy, would you come clean with me already? I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about! What am I supposed to have done?"

For the first time there was doubt on her face as he challenged her with this final question. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, her brow furrowed. He was beginning to lose his patience.

"Alright," he nodded, half to himself. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. I can handle it. Obviously I misread the signs you were giving me. I'm sorry I took up so much of your time." He strode towards the door, brushing roughly past her, ignoring her look of sudden alarm. "Don't worry," he added coolly, "I'll see myself out."

He was about to storm out when to his surprise she stopped him, catching a hold of his sleeve, giving him a ray of hope, a reason to stay. He held his breath.

"Warren…" she began desperately, but whatever else she wanted to say wouldn't come out. He sensed she was still holding back, still doubtful of his intentions – still doubtful of her own. He was darned if he knew what this was all about, but feeling the urgency in her fingers as she grasped his sleeve, he knew he couldn't let go of her without a fight. Without thinking he turned, grasping her by the elbows, forcing her to look up into his eyes, to see the sincerity in them.

"Betsy," he urged her in a low voice, "I've got to know whether I'm still in with a chance here. I can't rest until I do, and you know why? Because from the moment I met you, I haven't been able to get you out of my head. You're right – we hardly know one another, and I guess I must be going insane, because I still want a shot at this. I still want a shot at _us_. Is that so much to ask, Betts? Just one shot?"

She gazed up at him, pained indecision in her violet eyes and suddenly he knew, he _knew_ that she felt the same way and that even so she was fighting with all her might to deny it. And it was her ferocity to deny what was so painfully obvious that made her even more beautiful and alluring to him. Almost involuntarily he leaned over, his kiss enveloping her mouth with a passion he'd never felt before. She didn't even fight back. A sigh fluttered in her mouth as he kissed her, exposing her fragility, the true depth of her feelings for him. He was suddenly dizzy, all rational thought leaving him far behind as he cupped his fingers over her shoulders, slowly sliding the dressing gown down her arms, the silky material caressing her skin… the warmth of her body pressing against his own…

…And then she was pushing him away roughly, unwillingly.

"Stop," she breathed, her voice dazed but firm, her hands trembling against his chest. He was perplexed, still giddy from their embrace, his arms still encircling her.

"Betsy?"

"This isn't right, Warren," she told him, her voice a thick murmur. "I –"

**Ding dong.**

They stared at one another a moment, their eyes clouded both with regret, confusion, desire. He saw her swallow once, then she pulled out of his embrace, hastily pulling the gown up over her shoulders once more before unlatching and opening the door.

Only to reveal – to Warren's intense surprise and displeasure – a handsome young Asian man with a bouquet of roses in his hand.

"Neal!" she gasped weakly, and Warren saw her body turn rigid, and the hand that clasped the door handle turn white.

"Betsy," the man cried, not even bothering with greetings. "Why didn't you call?" He paused and noticed Warren standing behind her, his eyes giving a narrow glance of open hostility. "And who's _this_?"

Warren could make no reply. He was rarely taken by surprise, but this was different. All of a sudden Betsy's actions were clear to him. And Warren just didn't know how to react. He'd never been outdone by another rival for a woman's affections. And yet, he couldn't help but notice the dread on Betsy's face, nor could he escape what he'd felt inside the passionate maelstrom of their kiss. Betsy Braddock felt something for him, and it wasn't all just smiles and casual flirtation. It was something more.

He glanced at her, seeing in her face that she was about to make a decision, one that neither she nor he were ready to make.

Nevertheless, she made it.

"Neal," she finally spoke, her voice calm and composed yet laced with a regret that was only too clear to Warren's ears. "This is Warren. He's…a friend I met in England. Warren…" She turned to him, unable to look him in the eye, and he felt his throat tighten as he realized what she was going to say next. "Warren, this is Neal," she began weakly. "He's my…"

"I'm her boyfriend," Neal broke in indignantly, "and I'd like to know what the hell you're doing in my girlfriend's apartment!"

-xXx-

It was an hour before Remy ventured back downstairs, only to find Anna still sitting on the couch. She'd finally taken her coat off and wiped the streaks of mascara from her face. She didn't notice his presence and he saw that there was something in her lap that she seemed to be regarding – a picture, or a photo.

"You better?" he asked.

She started, quickly slipping the piece of paper back into her purse before regaining her composure.

"Yeah. M'fine." The corners of her lips tugged into a smile, and it was pale but at least she was talking. He took it as a good sign and felt assured enough to sit down next to her, not too far, not to close. She seemed wary but didn't move away, saying: "Thanks for the drink."

He smiled.

"No problem."

_Offer to take her back home, offer to call a cab, anyt'ing, jus' get her out b'fore y' change your goddamn mind LeBeau…_

He said nothing.

Silence washed over them and she looked away, embarrassed, dabbing her eyes with a rumpled tissue.

"Golly gosh, look at me! Ah must look a sight!"

"A gorgeous one," he murmured, reaching out to tease an errant lock of snow-white hair back behind her ear. He just couldn't help himself – every time he was near her he wanted to touch her. She stiffened at the contact and he moved his hand away, knowing he'd overstepped the mark.

"M' sorry," he apologized quietly. She relaxed, enough to tell him he was forgiven.

"Nah," she began with a forced lightness, still avoiding his eyes. "Ah'm the one who should be apologizin', for makin' yah go outta your way to take care of me an' all. You've been really kind, Mr. LeBeau."

He was still looking at that lock of hair, at the way it caressed her throat and curled into the dip of her shoulder… His mouth was suddenly dry.

"Remy," he corrected her softly, absently.

She half-smiled, her eyes lighting up… _those beautiful green eyes…_ "Thank you… Remy." She paused, her teeth tugging at her lower lip, her smile fading. "Ah mean, thank you for puttin' up with me. Ah just… Ah don't really know what came over me, and suddenly you were there and Ah had no idea…"

She looked down at the tissue in her hands, fingering it nervously, heightening the awkwardness between them. He watched her profile, the crescent of her lashes, the soft curve of her lips, and suddenly he wanted to kiss her, kiss her as passionately as he had that day in his office. _Jus' one more kiss, one more kiss an' I'll be able to let it lie…_ He swallowed hard, knowing that that one kiss would lead to another and then he'd end up doing something very naughty indeed – if she hadn't slapped him in the face beforehand, that was.

"You wanna talk 'bout it?" he asked instead.

"Nah." She shook her head. "Don't wanna bore you. It's just… girly stuff."

"A guy?" he asked, feigning casualness yet feeling his breath catch in trepidation of her answer.

She let out a small chuckle. "If Ah'd had a guy, Remy LeBeau, Ah would've seen t' it he would've sorted yah out the moment y'all started layin' the charm on meh."

He was half relieved, half amused.

"You think dat would've been effective, chere?" he joked. "Unless de guy was a pro-wrestler, I would've beat de crap outta him if it meant I was gonna get my hands on you."

She laughed bitterly. "It didn't take a bout o' fisticuffs for you t' get a kiss out of me, did it, Cajun."

"I prefer t' take de easier route if I can," he agreed.

"Ah bet," she commented sourly. She wiped her nose inelegantly with the tissue and asked: "Wouldja though?"

"Would I what?"

"Fight for meh?"

"Is there a man who wouldn't?" he joked. She didn't laugh and he straightened his face. "Yeah," he admitted softly, "I would."

She smiled then, a genuine smile. "Only so's you could get me into yah bed."

He leaned in a little closer to her, slinging his hand casually over the back of the sofa, almost ringing her shoulders but not quite. He knew she was feeling vulnerable and he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. "So?" he replied softly, dangerously. He thought she'd frown but she didn't.

"It's against the rules," she said.

"Whose rules?"

"_The_ rules."

Silence. He didn't know how, but they were suddenly closer to one another, and he could almost feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

"So lemme get dis straight," he began casually, "if dese 'rules' didn't exist, we'd've had hot, passionate sex already?"

He thought he'd blown it then. He thought she'd slap him in the face and tell him not to flatter himself. But she didn't. A corner of her lips upturned and she said, in that soft, sultry voice of hers: "Maybe only in yah wildest dreams, Cajun."

"Maybe?" he repeated, his voice just as low, just as sexy. "In my wildest dreams it's already happened." He leaned just an inch closer. "About fifty times a day since we first met."

He was testing the boundaries now, pushing as hard as he could and they both knew it. He steeled himself for her reaction but she merely gazed back at him, wordless, green eyes smoldering at the boldness of his confession.

"Then yah best keep dreamin', sugah," she finally murmured in reply, her voice haughty.

"I intend to. Until I get de real t'ing, dat is."

He was almost there, he was so close to getting that kiss out of her when she suddenly frowned and moved out of his way, rising to her feet before he could even think of backing away first.

"Ah haveta go," she mumbled quietly, dabbing her nose again and throwing the spent tissue in the nearby wastebasket. "Ah've taken up too much of your time already, Remy."

He rose too, sensing the lightness of their banter was over – as well as his chance for a final kiss. "It's okay. Anytime." He paused, feeling awkward, disappointed. "I jus' hope, y'know… whatever happened… dat y' feel better."

"Ah'll be fine," she assured him, slipping on her coat. All of a sudden she seemed to be in a hurry. He _knew_ it, he knew he should've just kept his big mouth shut and treated her with some respect…

"Y'know… if you want de day off on Monday…" he added, hoping to redeem himself.

"Nah, Ah ain't at death's door. Ah'll be fine on Monday."

She fumbled for her keys, dropped them.

"Maybe I should drive you back home…" he offered.

"Remy…" she sighed, picked up her keys and turned to face him. "Ah'll call a cab. Ah'll be fine."

"Alright," he finally acquiesced. "Good. Well…bye, I guess."

"Bye."

Neither of them moved. Remy looked at her, seeing the hurt, the indecision, the conflict in her eyes, and suddenly he understood…

_She doesn't really wan' t' leave me…_

He tried to fight it. He tried to tell himself she'd been hurt and that was why she didn't want to be alone. He tried to tell himself she was vulnerable and that she deserved better than to be taken advantage of. But she was just too delicious, just too irresistible to give up on…

Suddenly his arms were around her, pulling her close, his lips crushing against hers before either of them could get a word or thought out. He thought she'd struggle, but to his surprise her arms immediately came up to wind about his shoulders and draw him into a deeper kiss. He could hardly contain his excitement. Up until that moment he hadn't known she'd wanted him as much as he'd still wanted her. Their kiss became greedier as he cupped her butt, pressing her hard against him, and she responded, her thigh brushing upward to rub coyly against his leg, teasing him, driving him crazy for more.

Before things could get anymore heated than they already were she broke the embrace, and when she did they were both breathless.

"Maybe we should continue this upstairs," she murmured, her breath playing against his lips. His heart clenched at her words. All that time and now it'd taken so little effort, almost nothing at all… And yet still a sense of duty somehow prevailed. He tugged his fingers lightly through her copper curls, brushed his fingers against her cheek.

"I should drive you home," he muttered. _Remy Entienne LeBeau, what de hell are you sayin'!_

She curled her fingers into the collar of his shirt, raised those smoky green eyes of hers to his, sad, earnest eyes giving him a look he couldn't understand. "No," she murmured softly. "Ah don't wanna be alone. Let me stay with you tonight."

She pulled him towards her again, opening her mouth slowly, sensuously over his, and this time he didn't stop her.

She'd surrendered. She was his.

-xXx-

It had been another busy Friday night at the Hideaway and usually Logan would've been right in the heart of it. He never did any job by half, however dirty it got; but working at the Hideaway was one of the few things he really enjoyed doing. It was an honest day's work for one thing. For another, dealing with customers and pulling pints was a distraction, a way of mentally escaping from his past.

The distraction, however, hadn't been working of late.

Not since Dr. Jean Grey had showed up.

He'd left the bar early that evening, letting his employees hold fort for the night. He needed to get back to his apartment. He needed to be alone to brood. It was what he did best these days. Even those closest to him liked to joke about it, how he skulked around the neighborhood looking mean and scaring little kiddies away. For some reason, it drove the ladies wild. Even Logan himself didn't fully understand it. If he had to give himself marks out of ten for attractiveness, he'd give you the marks in negatives. It didn't stop the women from vying for his attention. The only woman who hadn't tripped over herself trying to get into his pants was Ms. Grey herself. It was just fucking typical. He was used to women who were coy and flirtatious and threw you come-hither looks from across the bar. But Jean was just about as open and natural a girl as you could meet. No airs and graces with that one. No batting of eyelids or toying of hair and naughty banter. She said what she thought and was passionate about it.

And heaven knew _that_ was what he found sexy – a girl that could speak her mind and treat him like an equal.

He hadn't met a broad like that in what must've been over ten years.

Boy, was he getting old.

Just about everything was getting depressing these days.

So there he was, in his apartment, brooding away over the good doctor. He'd spent too many nights alone, too many nights in the company of others _feeling_ alone. It was, he thought, exactly the way he'd always liked it. Until tonight, that was.

He was about to light up a cigar, pour himself a drink and spend the night alone on the roof again, when the doorbell went off. He went to answer it, puzzled. He hardly ever got any calls, let alone late night ones – he'd long ago found friends an unnecessary source of attachment.

_Mus' be that punk next door complainin' 'bout that flamin' leak again_.

He unlocked the door, grumbling all the way through doing so. But when he opened it, he didn't know whether to gape with surprise or thank the Fates for answering his prayers.

It was Jean, eyes red and puffy, her red hair disheveled and her cheeks tearstained.

"Logan," she greeted him when he was too amazed to say anything, let alone 'hello'. "I think I want to take you up on your offer." She paused, embarrassed. "Can I come in?"

He didn't think. His only response was to open the door wider and let her in.

-oOo-

Only one thing is streaking through my mind.

_Ah can't believe Ah'm doin' this._

Here I am, back to the door, and I can't run away and I don't _want_ to run away, and the part of me that's still thinking is saying, _Ah can't believe Ah'm doin' this_. It doesn't change the fact that I'm still really here, in only my stockings, bra and panties, and that I'm ripping the pants off some guy who, until a few weeks ago, I hadn't even laid eyes on.

The trouble is, I can't say he's just _any_ guy anymore. He _isn't_ just any guy, and I can't recall the moment when he stopped being 'any guy' and became _something_ to me. For some reason, that bothers me. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I know I'm being stupid and irresponsible. Maybe it's because Cody's gone, and I know I shouldn't be doing this just because I want this guy and I've wanted him longer than I care to admit. Maybe it's because I know I'm heading for another heartbreak, because he doesn't love me, because I'm just another conquest to him, one more tick in his little black book.

But I don't care anymore.

I unbuckle his pants and let them drop and he pins me up against the door again with his body and kisses me and in between kisses he says: "Anna… y' sure… y' want dis?"

I pull him in for another kiss. "Shut up," I say.

_Ah don't want to analyze this…_

I don't get why he's still being so concerned for me. He's been like this all evening, fencing round me, offering me anything I want, going out of his way to be nice to me. Is this some sort of weird penance for all the times he's messed with my head?

"We can stop…" he insists.

"Jus' kiss me…"

Truthfully, the lengths we've gone to now, I don't even know if we _can_ stop. We kiss again and I can't help touching him all over. Dammit, I can't get enough of this guy. If the girls could see me now they'd think I was the world's biggest hypocrite.

"Jus' tell me if you still want dis or not," he persists once we break apart. What the hell is up with all this cheap talk?

"Why?" I ask.

"Jus' wanna hear you say it, chere…"

Oh, I get it. He wants to hear the evidence of his triumph straight from the horse's mouth. He wants to hear me say he's won.

"Yes," I reply before I can mentally convince myself otherwise. "Ah do." _Goddammit, Remy!_

That shuts him up. His hands caress the length of my back as we kiss again, and his finger slips into the back of my bra, unhooks it. I don't know why I'm giving into him so easily, why he makes me feel the way I do. Why am I even doing this? Is this a distraction, or some kind of twisted consolation, or just pure lust? Or all of the above? It doesn't matter anymore. I'm right where he wants me – and I'm right where I need to be.

My bra gone, his hands run over me, warm, sensitive, worshipful, and I moan, pressing myself against his palms, seeking out his touch. He curbs my impatience, slowly beginning to kiss a trail down my body, my throat, my breasts, my navel…lower…

My fingers tangle in his hair. I close my eyes. He unrolls the panties over my thighs, my knees, my ankles, his hot breath tickling my flesh…

He kisses his way back up again with tantalizing latency, catching my bottom lip against his mouth, murmuring: "Mon Dieu you're beautiful, chere… I want y' right now, don't make me wait any longer…"

I can't wait either. I slip out from under his arms and we go to the bed and I lie down and I'm still questioning, even when I tug him towards me impatiently with both hands, my mind clouded with passion. I need to feel him against me, to take away the loneliness, the empty ache inside me, and I want it to be_ him_ and no one else.

I whisper his name and he looks at me, a long, penetrating, wordless gaze that takes my breath away. His weight settles upon me, and I cup his face, pulling him closer, our lips joining in yet another fevered and desperate kiss. I close my eyes and try to pretend he's someone else, just like I know he's pretending I'm someone else, like he pretends every women he's with is that someone else. But all I see is him. It's his mouth that kisses my jaw, my throat, my shoulder, his hands that taste every curve of my body. And it's my arms that wrap round him, my fingers that drag through his auburn hair as I hold him close with both arms and legs, as close as I possibly can and more.

That look on his face, the gaze we'd shared, replays itself through my mind, poignant, bittersweet, and it's familiar, it's comforting, it's a ghost from my past.

_It's the look Cody used to give me all those years ago…_

Suddenly there are no more questions. The answer's now as clear as day.

_Ah'm fallin' in love with Remy LeBeau._

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	16. Introspection

**Disclaimer: **Marvel's characters, not ours.

**A/N: ishandahalf **- Thanks for the uber-long comment, luv - as always. :hugs: We think right now that Remy's intentions are kinda mixed up, even to himself. But he'll work it out eventually. You know what guys are like with matters of the heart. :lmao: ;) **IvyZoe** - Cody's story will definitely be revealed in due course. :) **Chica De Los Ojos Cafe** - Wow! We're thrilled you approve! We agree - even if it was only out of pure lust, we know that it was inevitable. But we all know it's not just pure lust, right? Muahahaha! Stay tuned, mon amie:D **Sweety8587** - Nah, Remy's a strawberries and cream kinda guy. ;D **Alisha** - sorry you found it disappointing Alisha. We figured that Rogue and Remy's banter would be more awkward, since they were in a rather awkward position... But hey, you feel what you feel. Thanks for giving your honest opinion. :) **Wabi-Shabi** - Talking to one another:starts to calculate how many chapters before they actually start talking to one another: Come on, where would a Romy fic be without the misunderstanding and the angst! Although we promise you this will have a happy ending. Is that good enough? Honestly, we've tried to keep things upbeat thus far, but Remy and Rogue have to sort some things out first and it ain't all going to be roses along the way... ;) But anyway, thanks for reading and commenting and most of all enjoying. As for our own fics - well, Angy's kinda busy with everyday life, and Ludi's kinda busy having a bad bout of writer's block where Threads is concerned. But we're not giving up... we just don't know when the next updates will be on the horizon. :( **Chaos-harbinger** - Meh heh. You're bringing back some woeful memories of 'Sunset Beach' and 'The Bold and the Beautiful'. Yup, we admit it, this is pure, unadulterated soap opera. :p All we have to say about the situation with Warren, and with Scott - expect the unexpected...

...And thanks to everyone else who left their comments and reviews on the fic! We appreciate your support as ever and hope you continue to enjoy reading the story in the future. :D As for this chapter, we're having just a little bit of down time before things pick up again. Stay tuned...

-xOx-

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(16) Introspection**

Logan's apartment turned out to be as idiosyncratic as the man himself. It was a dingy old place, sparsely furnished but kept in reasonably good shape, exactly how one would imagine a bachelor pad must've looked like twenty years ago.

Jean sensed he hadn't moved or changed a thing in about the same amount of time. But she said nothing as she slipped past him and into what appeared to be the hallway-cum-dining room. She stood there a moment, feeling confused, nervous and out-of-place. It was as though she'd trespassed on his territory. Suddenly coming here felt like a terrible mistake.

"You wanna take yer coat off?" Logan asked awkwardly. She sensed that he was feeling as embarrassed as she was and that eased her nerves somewhat.

"No… I wasn't really planning on staying long, I just wanted to…" She slowly trailed off, not knowing what she wanted, or why she'd even come here. Maybe she was being irrational. Maybe Scott had been telling the truth and she was overreacting…

Logan shrugged, nonchalant once more, and brushed past her, opening the door to what must have been the living room.

"Suit yerself…" he said.

She followed him on instinct, only to find herself in a room she had not been expecting. It was as small and poky as the hallway, but decorated with what she could only describe as antiques. Rare and fascinating Japanese antiques.

Jean stood in the doorway and looked around in awe.

At the far end of the room was a cabinet full various ornaments, gold statues of unknown deities, black lacquered dishes, ceremonial Noh masks, enamel-inlaid mirrors and hand-painted fans. Against another wall was a bookcase full of books about Japan – some even in Japanese. But the crowning glory had been hung proudly on the wall above the sofa. A katana blade in a black scabbard, intricately decorated in gold and silver. Despite the shabbiness of his apartment, Jean could tell that he took care of all these rarities with as much attentiveness as he'd taken care of her that night at the _Hideaway_.

Though utterly at odds with his character, somehow she wasn't surprised to discover a refined and cultured side to this strange and silent man.

"Wanna drink?"

He'd gone to the adjacent kitchen and was calmly pouring himself a Scotch. She tore her eyes reluctantly away from the katana and said: "Sure. Whatever you're having."

His head popped round the kitchen door.

"You sure about that, Red?"

"I need something hard," she replied wryly, wiping her moist eyes with the back of a hand. He grimaced with wordless understanding and disappeared, leaving her with the katana once more. A moment later he was back, two glasses of whiskey in his hands.

"You like it?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the sword.

She nodded. "You bought it?"

"Nah. Was a gift," he returned, sipping from his glass with relish. "S'my pride an' joy. Along with my bike, that is," he added with a curl of the lips.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. "You had it made in Japan?"

"Yeah." He paused, his eyes downcast. "I lived out there a while back."

She looked at him, for the first time feeling that she was touching something intimate and personal in him and it felt odd, all the more so for the fact that he was letting her touch it. She couldn't help but feel warm towards him, be attracted to his lonewolf demeanor and the fact that he made no apology for it. And the way he looked at her, gazed at her lips, waiting for her to speak… She swallowed.

"A long while back?" she asked of him tentatively.

"Probably when you were in yer teens, Red."

The way he said it made Jean feel like he was trying to put space between them and she was even more confused. She looked away, sipping the whiskey quietly, trying not to balk at the sour taste of it. She'd been angry with Scott, had come here in the heat of the moment thinking she had no one else to turn to – but being here, now, with _him_… Her anger had dissipated only to be left with discomfort. Perhaps she really shouldn't have come at all…

"So," he began, settling down on the couch. "You wanna talk about it?"

"About what?" she asked, taken off guard.

He gave her a look.

"Red, you come here out of the blue with your eyes all red and puffy, askin' me to help you out. And now you're tellin' me there ain't somethin' you wanna talk about?"

"I think…" she looked down at her glass, her cheeks flushing, "I think maybe I was overreacting…"

"Hmph. So you jus' came here 'cos you were dyin' to see me?" His tone was mocking, as if he expected her to laugh at the suggestion. And yet the accuracy of his statement made her blush.

"I… Something happened… I was upset. I thought talking to you would help, but…"

"But I ain't the right person to talk to, huh?"

"Because I'm praying I've read the situation wrong and I've got nothing to be really upset about," she finished.

He gave her a quizzical look, but she didn't want to explain. She just couldn't deal with mentioning Scott to him. For one thing she'd lied to him – she'd pretended she was single and she didn't want him to think bad of her. For another she still didn't want to appear anything_ but_ single to him…

"I gotta admit, Red, you've got me intrigued here," he began, and she finally found the courage to sit on the sofa next to him. "Are you sure there ain't anythin' I can do?" he continued, softer this time.

"No," she replied slowly. That at least was true. She didn't know why she'd come to him in the first place, when she so easily could've phoned her sister, or one of the girls. Even her own actions confused her. It was so out of character for her to find comfort in someone she barely knew, and that scared her. "I'm sorry, Logan, I really shouldn't have interrupted your evening. It was rude of me since I barely know you at all, but it was such a spur of the moment decision and I didn't know where else to go."

She busied herself looking at her hands but he simply grinned. "Don't apologize. I wasn't doin' anythin' interestin'. I was only thinkin' of goin' up on the roof and drinkin' a beer… 'Bout as excitin' as my evenin's get these days."

She couldn't smile, despite his humorous tone.

"Funny. I would've thought a man like you would be finding lots of things to do during the night."

He grunted. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugged. "Just a feeling."

He leaned over reflectively, placing his empty glass on the coffee table. "Well," he began, "I _was_ a busy kinda guy. Back in the old days, when I had a lot more to do with my life than run a bar."

"Like when you were in Japan?" she asked, looking up at the katana again. He raised an eyebrow.

"What, we talkin' about me now?"

She looked down into her glass again. "I'd like to know about you," she found herself confessing quietly. He looked surprised and she continued quickly. "I…I find you an interesting person, Logan. You're…so different to other men."

He stared at her a long moment, considering, then said: "What d'ya wanna know?"

"Why you went to Japan. Why you stayed out there. Why you obviously still love it so much."

His gaze was more penetrating this time, and she thought he'd be angry with her for presuming too much, for having been so bold. But the look in his eyes wasn't anger – she couldn't tell what it was.

"It was because of a woman," he finally replied, simply, so simply she was taken aback.

"You mean…" she began, tongue-tied. He nodded briefly.

"Yup."

She flushed. "I'm sorry."

"Why? You brought it up. If you ask for it, you gotta be prepared not to like it." He wasn't rebuking her, just being matter-of-fact. She thought it was the only way he could deal with life without folding.

"What was her name?"

He didn't even blink.

"Mariko. Mariko Yashida."

"And you were…close?"

"We were engaged."

"Oh." She paused, wondering if she should pose her next question at all. She swirled the contents of her glass round, asked: "If you don't mind me asking… How did she…pass on?"

His countenance was still one of calm stoicism.

"She was poisoned. By the Yakuza." He caught her shocked expression and gave a mirthless smile. "Don't give me that look, Red. I ain't gonna lie to you. I wasn't no saint, back in the day. Never pretended t' be."

"But you…and the _Yakuza_? You were involved in organized _crime_?"

Logan perused his glass, his gaze far-away. "No. Not quite. But Mariko was – by blood. Her family _was_ the Yakuza." He looked at her then, his blue eyes searching her face. "You're a big girl, Red, so I ain't gonna pretty this up for you. Yeah, I did some work for the Yakuza, but only under my own terms, and only for Mariko. I was caught up in some funny business back then and I was stupid. I let it get in the way of my personal life and I paid for it." He sighed. "You haveta understand, I was a worthless _gaijin_ to the Yaks and they didn't like me cozyin' up to the big boss' daughter. When she would have no one else, it was treason. You can guess what happened next."

He looked away quickly, his eyes wandering, and behind the gruffness of his words Jean detected the sorrow and guilt that still haunted him. She could say nothing, knowing words would only be a cold comfort.

"That katana," he continued, nodding up at the polished blade, "was her gift to me." He leaned forwards, stared at his interlaced fingers. "I told her I loved her, but I wasn't prepared to give up my way of life for her. I was an idiot. She was willin' to give me everythin' and I threw it all away. I lost her and there was no one to blame but myself." His voice fell to an undertone. "I've been alone ever since."

Silence fell. Jean was getting tired of fiddling with the barely-touched glass, and she didn't particularly want to get drunk again anyway. So she set it down on the table and looked him in the eye.

"Logan…" she began with genuine feeling. "I-I'm sorry."

He glanced up at her, his gaze questing. "Me too. But being alone is the price I gotta pay for letting Mariko die. Being a loner is the way I am."

She shook her head slowly. "No, it isn't. Sure, you made a mistake back then, a terrible one, but it doesn't have to rule the rest of your life. For what it's worth… I don't think any less of you."

He was wordless, his gaze intense, so intense she had to look away. He was being frank with her, and that made her feel guilty. He hadn't told anyone this in a long time, she could feel it. And that he'd chosen his confidante to be her meant more than she could tell. He wasn't the kind of man to deal with florid gestures. His way of showing friendship was primitive, a simple matter of give and take. He'd shared with her and so he expected the same of her. But it was more than that. As she looked into his eyes she knew it wasn't simply friendship he was trying to show her and she knew it wasn't only friendship she'd been looking for in him either.

And in that split-second of realization it was clear as day to her why she had come here.

She'd come here because she was attracted to Logan. She'd come here because she found him interesting and passionate and sensitive and she'd wanted to hurt Scott the way he'd hurt her.

She'd been prepared to cheat on her fiance, the man she loved.

The revelation was enough to get her to her feet. He looked up at her, puzzled at her sudden look of alarm, and feeling flustered she mumbled: "I think I should be getting home."

"But you only just –"

"I've really got to go," she insisted, half-turning towards the door. She knew he didn't want her to go, but to her surprise he didn't try to stop her.

"All right," he replied quietly. He stood up too. "I just hope what I told you…that it ain't gonna change things between us."

"Why should it change anything between us?" she asked softly.

"I ain't a frank man, Jean – never have been, never will be. But when I'm with you…" He paused. "I ain't afraid t' _feel_ round you, Red."

She couldn't face him, knowing she'd gone a step too far and unable to take it any further, because she already had Scott and what she had with him wasn't something she was willing to risk for a fling with a man she barely knew. Because she knew she and Scott _could_ work through anything – it was just a question of her wanting to. And the way she felt when Logan looked at her – it made her want things she'd never wanted before, and that scared the hell out of her.

"You don't deserve to be alone for the rest of your life," she told him quietly. "I know I don't really know you, but what I do know is that you're an intelligent, kind and generous man. And that there must be _someone_ out there ready to care for you."

She made to leave and got as far as the doorway when he stopped her.

"And could that someone be you, Jean?"

She halted. She couldn't help it – it was his voice. Low and impassioned, simple and honest and full of want. _He wanted her; he wanted to open up his life to her_. He was ready after all the years of hurt he'd suffered. He was taking a risk and they both knew it. Suddenly she felt like a schoolgirl again.

"Logan…" she breathed, her heart racing.

"I wanna tell y' somethin', Red," he returned in a low voice, not moving to her, still keeping his distance. "An' I'm gonna be honest. I haven't known what love is in a good long while. But ever since I've known you I've been feelin' things I ain't felt with any other women, not since Mariko. And I don't know if this is lust or somethin' more but for the first I'm willin' to take a chance on someone, Jean. I want t' get t' know you for real. An' that's the God-darned honest truth."

What he asked for was so simple, so uncomplicated, and even if all he was asking her for was a night of unbridled passion at that moment she would have said yes. But what he was asking her for was so much more, and she'd lied, deceived him into wanting it. He was a good man who'd done bad things and yet he'd been honest with her – and honesty was something she hadn't even been able to give him.

And she couldn't take that risk, she just couldn't throw away all those years with Scott, even if what they had was already crumbling away…

"Logan…" she began, but he preempted her, raising his hands and silencing whatever she would have said.

"Jean, I ain't gonna push you inta anythin'. I don't wanna do that. An' I ain't askin' anythin' from you, I just wanna let you know how I feel." He gave a wry smile, as if to say how stupid he was for letting his feelings known at all. "I just… I _know_, Jean. Y' come here, cryin' yer eyes out, askin' fer me, _lookin'_ at me the way y'do…" He trailed off, shook his head and raised his eyes to hers. "There's a guy in your life, isn't there," he finished.

She couldn't help it. Her heart sank. Even though her mind was relieved the truth was out, she couldn't help her heart from sinking. She wanted to put her arms round him. She wanted to breathe in the feral scent of him and kiss him and tell him she didn't care, that she was willing to take a chance too. But the part she'd been playing all her life, that of the rational, logical creature whose passions were hidden for fear they become too intense – won over.

"His…his name's Scott," she murmured with a calmness she didn't feel. "Scott Summers. We're engaged." She bit her lip, continued: "I'm sorry, Logan. I caught him cheating on me, and I guess I was prepared to cheat on him too. But I can't do it. Not because of Scott, but because…" she took a deep breath, "because I care about you too, Logan, and I can't lie to you anymore, I can't pretend this can be something more than it is."

She finally found the courage to look at him and found herself staring straight back into his eyes, blue eyes that told her all she needed to know. That she'd hurt him, that she'd hurt him just when he'd been willing to let go of the all the hurt he'd borne before. And that he understood. That he was still understanding her, even after what she'd done to him.

She couldn't bear to see that look any longer.

She swiveled to go, and somewhere inside she still thought he'd stop her, that he'd wrap her in his embrace and kiss her and give her a reason to stay. But he didn't move. He wasn't fighting. He had nothing to lose because they hadn't even begun.

She tried not to meet his eyes, afraid of what they might say to her.

"Goodbye, Logan," she murmured.

She didn't even hear him reply before she left.

-oOo-

It was one in the morning and Emma Frost should've been fast asleep. Either that or she should've been living it up in the city, partying the night away with the girls or some random guy whose name she didn't even know.

Instead she was sitting in her bedroom watching a weepy chick-flick and swigging red wine straight from the bottle in nothing but her underwear. The world had started to get hazy somewhere in-between the first and second bottles. It made her want to laugh deliriously, and that was exactly what she'd been looking for the entire evening. It was the only way to stop her from crying.

"I'll show that low-down student that no one takes advantage of Emma Grace Frost…" she slurred to herself, taking another swig and spilling wine on herself in the process. Unfortunately she was well past caring.

Emma flopped back onto her bed and managed to set the bottle back onto her bedside table without dropping it. The entire day she'd been kicking herself for sleeping with Bobby Drake. At work she'd been praying that he wasn't going to hang around and wait for her when she got back. The last thing Emma wanted to do was the old 'let's-talk-things-over' routine.

It wasn't so much the fact that it was Bobby she'd slept with. It wasn't the first time she'd had a fling with the gardener. It was the fact that she couldn't remember any of it, that she had lost entire control of her faculties in front of a man, that she'd opened up all her insecurities and vulnerabilities to him. She felt as if she'd shown Bobby something disgusting and ugly – the real Emma Frost. And that was what she couldn't stand. She couldn't bear to face him again because of it. She couldn't bear to think that he'd see her as some cheap and nasty whore.

She wanted him to see her as someone special.

She'd never known until that moment that she wanted something more than just a casual fling in her love life, something beautiful and worth holding onto. Jean and Scott had it. Betts and Neal had it. Rogue and Cody had had it, and even back then she'd scoffed at it. It was love. Why couldn't she have it? All she had was a drunken night she couldn't even remember. A drunken night with a guy who was almost perfect. Someone who talked to her as his equal, who comforted her and made her laugh. She'd called him a low-down student, thought him unworthy and beneath her. But of all the men she'd ever encountered, he was the one who'd truly made her feel good about herself.

"Trust you to turn a good thing sour, Emma," she mumbled plaintively to herself. "It so nearly could've been 'the real thing' and what d'you do? Screw it all up like you always do."

She rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. She wanted to remember last night as something tender and intimate, something out of one of Rogue's romance novels. Why did she always have to get the sordid sex-fests?

**Ring, ring!**

At the sound of the phone Emma rapidly pushed herself up with her palms, her heart leaping.

_Bobby…?_

Part of her didn't want it to be him. The other part wanted, _needed_ to hear his voice again…

She scrabbled for the phone.

"Emma Frost speaking," she greeted as soberly as she could.

"Emma?"

It was Betsy's voice not Bobby's, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Betsy?"

"Yeah, it's me. Look, I'm sorry it's so late, luv, but I just_ had _to call you…" She took a breath, trying to still the trembling of her voice before continuing. "Emma, I really need your advice."

"Advice?" Emma repeated thickly. Why did she suddenly want to screech with manic and hysterical laughter?

"Yes. I mean, I know I ask a lot of you and I know you get angry sometimes, but I truly trust your judgement and I need you to help me out… I think I've done something terribly wrong." She paused, and even through the haze in her head the irony of the situation wasn't lost on Emma. _You think you've done something terribly wrong, _she wanted to say. _Well take a look at my life! You're not the only one who's screwed up miserably! I'm the last person you want advice from!_ But she couldn't. It was too sad to even confess. She knew Betsy would want to hear all the gory details and she didn't think she could take it.

"I know you're going to yell at me for saying this," Betsy continued in a rush down the phone, "but I'm going to say it anyway. Emma, I think I'm in-love with Warren Worthington. And before you say anything, I _know_ you told me to stay away from him, but I just can't believe he's as bad as you say he is. He came round this evening… he even offered me a chance to be with him, and it felt so _right_, and I really wanted to say yes… But then Neal showed up and… oh Emma, I can't believe it, I turned Warren down and I made up with Neal and he spent the entire evening here going on and on and I couldn't stop thinking about Warren… I mean it, Emma, he's the most wonderful guy I've ever met and I don't know what happened between you two, but I just want you to think objectively about this and let me know whether you… Emma? Emma, are you still there?"

Emma pressed a finger to her aching forehead as she listened to Betsy outline her predicament. Her head was head was spinning. She didn't care about Warren Worthington. She didn't care about Neal and she didn't care about Bobby. She just wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep forever.

"Emma?" Betsy called again, annoyed.

"Sorry, Betsy," Emma slurred. "But I'm 'fraid I'm not up t' playin' your shrink t'night."

"What? Emma, are you drunk?" Betsy's voice was suddenly filled with concern.

"M'fine. M'jus' not the best person to ask for an opinion on men right now, kay?"

Betsy was alarmed.

"Why? What's happened? Emma, are you okay?"

"Nothin' a good ol' forty-winks can't sort out, Betts."

"Emma, you sound rough. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. And if you really want my advice, stay right where you are. You and Neal got somethin' I'm never gon' have. Never told you but I was always jealous when I saw you guys t'gether… He really loves you… Which is more than any guy's ever gon' give me… Don't you dare throw it 'way, Betts. Y'hear me?"

"Emma…" There was real worry in Betsy's voice, but Emma couldn't bear for anyone to pity her any more than she pitied herself.

"G'night, Betts," she said quickly, and switched off the phone before anymore could be said. Throwing the handset into her pile of clothes, she slumped back onto the bed. Emma rarely felt sorry for herself but this time she didn't even check the tears of self-pity that came to her eyes.

_Face it, Emma, you're a failure. Even Rogue's known real happiness in her life and you've got nothing 'cos you never had it. You don't even deserve Bobby. You don't deserve anybody. You might as well face it – no one's ever going to love you for who you are, because who you are is a horrible, cold-hearted, bad-tempered bitch. Might as well get used to being alone, Emma._

_'Cos that's how you're going to stay._

-xXx-

Betsy slowly placed the phone back into its cradle, her brow furrowed in concern for her friend as much as her own dilemma. She half-considered going over to Emma's and seeing what was the matter, but decided her friend was safer sleeping off whatever had happened to her. Besides, Betsy knew Emma would rather die than have anyone see her in distress. God only knew the pride of that woman was practically intolerable.

Betsy passed a hand over her eyes and sighed.

There was an image she just couldn't get out of her head. Warren with his back to her, walking away, leaving her behind. Neal had demanded to know what he was doing in her apartment and Betsy had held her breath, all sorts of insane and melodramatic visions running going through her head – punches being thrown, Warren bravely declaring his love for her to all and sundry. Because she didn't doubt his feelings for her were strong enough for him to fight for her. She _knew_ they were. She'd felt it. In their kiss.

And for the first time, she had _wanted_ him to fight for her.

But he hadn't.

Instead he'd stood there, his expression very calm, very stoic, and said in a low undertone: "Betsy left something in the cab whilst returning from the airport. Her cell phone, to be exact. I thought I should return it to her, since she'd be needing it…" She'd bit her lip, wondering whether Neal would buy it, but Warren hadn't even waited for him to protest or reply. He'd quickly turned to her, and this time she couldn't escape his gaze, the hurt in his cornflower blue eyes. "I'd better get going, Betsy. I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

He'd given her a slight smile, a small curve of the lips that barely masked what she knew he'd really been feeling inside. Then he'd turned back to Neal, said politely: "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Neal. Goodnight."

And with that he had gone, without giving her so much as one last parting glance.

Betsy had stared after Warren's receding figure, her heart caught in her throat as she realized – _I'm probably never going to see him again_. Half of her had wanted to run after him, to enfold her arms about him and tell him there was no one else she wanted but him. But the other half had told her to stay. She'd made the right decision, hadn't she? It was Neal she'd made a commitment to, not Warren. She barely knew the man. Not enough to be with him. Not enough to love him. Not enough to be feeling this way…

Neal had spent another couple of hours at her place and she'd finally fended him off with several lackluster excuses. She knew that if she let him stay he'd probably expect her to sleep with him and she couldn't handle that right now. She was in a horrible mess and she didn't know what to do.

And now Emma seemed to be in a quandary of her own and wouldn't tell her what it was. Betsy had never heard her sounding so despondent before and it worried her.

She slid off her bathrobe, shivering momentarily as the cool night air touched her skin, reminding her of the feather-light touch of Warren's caresses. Slowly, she clambered into bed.

What was it Emma had said?

_You and Neal have got something I'm never going to have. He really loves you…Don't you dare throw it away. Hear me?_

Betsy sighed and switched off her lamp.

"I hope you're right, Emma," she mumbled to herself. "I hope you're right."

Because she knew in her heart that she was resigning herself to another sleepless night where all she'd be thinking about was another man's kiss.

-oOo-

It wasn't fair.

The bedside alarm clock was flashing three in the morning and he still wasn't sleeping. It wasn't what the guilt-free aftermath of casual sex was supposed to be like. But then, there was nothing 'casual' about sex with Anna Raven and some of the things she'd done to him still took his breath away.

Remy looked up at the darkened ceiling and frowned.

She was lying only three centimeters away with her back to him, her shoulders rising gently, regularly in sleep, and he was still too freaked to touch her. He'd spent the last hour alone staring at her like some lovesick teen that couldn't believe he'd just scored with this unbelievably sexy and passionate woman. One night of wild sex and they hadn't even spoken to one another when it was over. It was everything he'd come to expect from a one-night stand. No words exchanged afterward, not even a tender touch. So why was it that was what he wanted now? He just wasn't supposed to do intimacy anymore.

Remy sighed and slid out of bed, fumbling for a cigarette and a lighter in the darkness, trying to get his cynicism back. He stood by the window, turning his back on her like hers was turned on him, as he sucked in smoke to deaden the ominous sensation of butterflies in his stomach. Outside New York was a sprawling silhouette under a canopy of indigo velvet, a sparse scattering of lights flickering, glimmering, winking back up at him.

He just didn't get it.

There'd been dozens of women in his life, dozens of cheap fucks, tawdry seductions and nights of unbridled passion with no strings attached at all. He'd get away with a wink and a kiss and that would be the end of it. None of those women had ever meant anything to him – so why was _she_ any different? What made sex with her so amazing that he couldn't sleep?

What made _her _so amazing?

He looked back over his shoulder, trying desperately to work it out. Behind him Anna lay in his bed, her skin silvery in the moonlight, reminding him just what it felt like to have her arms, her body around him. He didn't know what it was but whenever she looked at him, whenever she touched him, whenever she kissed him it drove him wild. She had that _something_ he'd been looking for in a woman ever since he couldn't remember when. And he wanted more of it. He wanted more of her in the morning, he wanted more of her tomorrow night… and the night after that, and the night after that…

He studied the tip of his cigarette, a lonely flare of crimson in the night.

_It don't have t' mean anyt'ing. It'll just be good sex and dat'll be it._

Remy stubbed the cigarette out, threw the smoldering remains out the window.

_Who'm I kiddin'? She's de most amazin' femme I've ever met…_

He grimaced, partly at himself, partly at the whole stupid situation. Turning, he walked back over to the bed and slid in under the covers, wanting to tell her, wanting to talk. He ran his fingers over the curve and swell of her waist and hip, pressed a kiss against her dimpled shoulder blade.

"Anna," he murmured into her skin. "You 'wake?"

She made no reply, didn't even stir.

He paused, waiting, knowing he wouldn't get an answer. It was a minute before his resolve faltered, before he let her go and rolled over onto his back once more.

_Dammit, LeBeau! You gotta play dis cool…_

Maybe in the morning, maybe in the cold light of day, things would feel different. Maybe he'd be back to his devil-may-care self again.

Maybe.

Lulled by the soft rhythm of her breathing, Remy slipped unwillingly into sleep.

-xXx-

I'm still awake.

I can't sleep, but I'm pretending to, and I hate myself for it because this isn't the way it's supposed to be. If this was really love it'd be all kisses and cuddles and coy afterplay, but it isn't.

And I know he's awake too.

He's been lying there next to me and I can feel his eyes on my back, I can feel the intensity of his gaze and I can't return it because I know how I feel now. I'm afraid that if I turn and look at him, he'll be able to see _it_ in my eyes. He'll laugh at me, he'll think I'm a fool. He'll tell me what I already know – that this is a one-night-stand, that I don't mean a thing to him.

I want to kick myself for being such an idiot.

He gets out of bed and I hear the flick of a lighter as he lights up another goddamn cigarette. I half expect him to go and grab a beer but he doesn't. A few minutes later he comes back, he slides in under the covers and I feel the warmth of his naked body beside mine. He caresses my shoulder and kisses it, his tender touches sending shivers down my spine. I want to turn to him, I want to feel him against me once more but I can't afford to, I can't afford to let him know how hooked I am on him already…

"Anna," he murmurs. "You 'wake?"

What does he want? More sex?

I squeeze my eyes shut tight, I say nothing.

He waits a long while, his lips still on my shoulder, his breath teasing my flesh. Then he finally gives up and rolls away. I can barely breathe. I try to tell myself this is just lust, a stupid infatuation, and when I wake up in the morning I'll be able to walk out that door without so much as a glance back in his direction.

The morning's only a few hours away and I already know I can't do it. I can't hold out any longer, even if it means he'll push me away.

_Maybe he wants to talk…_

I turn, I put my arms round him, I say his name.

He doesn't respond.

He's already fast asleep.

-oOo-

_To be continued..._


	17. Morning After

**Disclaimer: **Marvel's characters, not ours.

**A/N:** Now wasn't that a quick update? ;) We're hoping to go back to the one update a week formula from now on, but we're not promising anything, so if we're late please don't flame us! Much as we'd love to spend our time writing about the Ragin' Cajun and his Mississippi Marauder, we do have real lives to live as well, dammit. ;) And just to set the record straight - we promise this fic will have a happy ending! So cool your boots, people!

In the meantime, read, review and enjoy! And thanks for your yummy-scrummy comments. :D

-_Ludi x_

_This chapter is dedicated to the beautiful city of New Orleans and all those affected by Hurricane Katrina. Our thoughts and prayers go with you..._

-xOx-

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(17) Morning After**

Remy woke up riding on an unusual sense of euphoria. It took a moment for the previous night to come back to him. Both him and the girl of his dreams – the girl he'd only just realized meant more to him than he'd ever imagined – making wild, passionate love. Several times. It was almost too good to be true.

He rolled onto his side, searching for her with his free arm, still wanting to hold her close, still wanting to whisper in her ear just how much she meant to him, that last night hadn't just been a one-night stand, that he found her perfect in almost every way; that she was his chere, she was his coeur, she was his one and only, she was his… …

She was gone.

Remy sat up, dazed and confused, only to find it was true. Next to him – where she'd been lying only a few hours before looking all tousled and gorgeous and sexy – was now an empty space. His heart sank into the soles of his feet and lower. She really was gone. All that remained of her was the traces of her perfume, lingering on the pillows and bed sheets, torturing him with the erotic memory of her presence. He got out of bed and slipped on his boxers, expecting to hear her suddenly turn on the shower, to hear her sultry voice singing the blues, to hear her call him from downstairs telling him the coffee was ready.

_Dat must be it… she's downstairs..._

He hurried down but somehow he knew she wouldn't be there. Every room was as empty and cold as his bed had been. He stood in the middle of the lounge, running his fingers through his hair in agitation.

_What'd I do wrong, chere?_

He'd tried to be good, just for her – really he had. He'd even asked her again and again whether sleeping with him was what she really wanted. They'd got as far as being both practically naked and he still would've been willing to stop if that's what she'd wanted. To his eternal gratitude she'd told him that she wanted it, that she wanted _him_, that she didn't want to leave. So why had she gone now?

It was then that he noticed it. A glossy sliver of paper that had somehow fluttered down under the coffee table. A photograph, passport sized. He bent over and picked it up. He stared at it, his breath catching painfully in his throat.

It was Anna, his Anna, smiling blissfully, green eyes sparkling, looking truly _happy_ in a way he'd never seen her look before. She was beautiful, radiant, almost heartbreakingly so.

She also had her arms round a wholesome, good-looking, blond-haired, blue-eyed guy who appeared to be every inch as happy as she was.

They were the very image of the perfect couple.

Remy swallowed. If his heart could've sunk any further, it would have. Why had she left him? Why had she been fending him off for so long, and with such persistence? The reason was plain to see, and he was holding it in his hand at that very moment.

Rogue was another guy's gal.

-oOo-

The image was as dramatic and alluring as a close-up on the silverscreen.

Emma was pouting at herself in the mirror and reveling in her movie-star good-looks as she applied the final finishing touch of Max Factor Firebrand to her lips. One look at her corset and micro-mini-skirt enhanced body and you wouldn't have thought that less than 12 hours ago she was a cringing mess. The truth was it was Saturday and she had a date with an old acquaintance, Sebastian Shaw. And even if she was disinclined to go, there was no way she wasn't going to tackle this head on – especially not without looking her goddamn sexiest best.

Having applied her makeup, Emma blew herself a kiss and studied herself in the mirror. She looked exactly like a high-class escort girl on the rampage. It was precisely the look she wanted.

Turning on her stiletto heels, Emma marched down the stairs with the air of a woman on a mission, only to open the front door and find herself staring at Bobby Drake, his finger poised to ring the doorbell.

"Bobby!" she exclaimed, her heart suddenly going into off-road gear.

"Emma!" He dropped his hand to his side and dug his hands nervously into his pockets, unable to help his cheeks from going beet-red – or his eyes from wandering the length of her barely-clad body. "You look…fantastic," he finished.

"What are you doing here?" she retorted stiffly, deliberately ignoring the compliment. If it were possible, he reddened even more.

"I, uh, have work today…" he replied. "Don't you remember? Saturday's I do the pool…"

"Well, the pool's out back and the shed's that way," she pointed out rudely, waiting for him to take the hint and leave her alone. He didn't.

"Actually, Emma…" he began awkwardly instead. "I wanted to talk to you before I started work. You know, about the other night?"

Emma's guts turned to ice at this, but there was no way in hell she was going to let him know that the thought of talking to him about the other night scared her witless.

"Sorry, Robert," she replied coolly, glancing down at her watch impatiently, "but I'm rather busy. This will have to wait until another time."

"Busy?" He looked confused. "You mean…you're going out?"

"Well, what does it look like?" she snapped, losing her temper. "As it happens I'm going out on a date, with a very nice, respectable man named Sebastian Shaw. We're having dinner together."

Bobby stared, unable to conceal the hurt and bewilderment in his eyes. Emma wanted to physically cringe for being so cruel, but the bitch within her was already smiling in wicked triumph as another man fell victim to her tortures.

"Dinner?" he finally repeated, his tone wounded. He looked her over once, twice, his expression a very picture of dismay. "You look like…" He trailed off, not wanting to hurt her feelings, but she knew what he meant to say anyway.

"A hoe?" she couldn't help finishing for him sharply. "You think I look like a hoe, right? Is that what you meant to say?"

"I never said – " he tried to defend himself, but she was quicker.

"But you were thinking it, weren't you?" she spat angrily. "You think I'm cheap and disgusting and a whore, don't you?"

"Emma!" he exclaimed, truly shocked at her words. "Geez, Emma, how could you believe I would even _think_ that? God… I know I'm a doofus and I talk out of my butt sometimes… well, most of the time probably… But I am definitely _not_ talkin' out of my butt when I say you're the most amazing woman I've ever met and I'd never _ever _think that of you!"

Under any normal circumstances she would've caved into his puppy dog eagerness to please her. But now she was so mad that she could find nothing endearing in his words. If anything she was madder at herself than at him.

"Oh really?" she seethed sarcastically, her pale blue eyes glinting. "Well, if that's the case then why did you take advantage of me the other night, huh? Isn't it because you'd seen me taken advantage of before? Isn't it because you thought I deserved it? Isn't it because you knew I'd be an easy lay?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, _whoa_!" He held his hands up in self-defense, his eyes so wide with shock and hurt he looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. "Emma, you have this _totally_ wrong! Okay, I admit, the other night was a mistake – you were upset and vulnerable and we both got a bit drunk and we shouldn't have…you know… I mean, we should've _waited…_"

"Oh, so you mean you've had designs on me from the very beginning?" she immediately goaded him, unable to help herself.

"_What_? _No_!" She'd never seen a man look so scared and bewildered in her life, and part of her hated herself for tormenting him but it was the only way left to save her pride. "I mean _yes_… In a way…"

"So you admit it?" she pounced on the admission like a hungry jaguar.

"Not like that! I would never have touched you unless I thought…" He faltered, embarrassed, and she couldn't resist probing for more.

"Unless what? Unless you thought _what_ exactly?" she persisted, cornering him even further against the porch wall. He was literally sweating by now.

"Well…unless I thought you felt the same way about me as I feel about you…" he explained in an appeasing tone. Emma stared at him. Here it came. She could feel it coming – everything she'd ever wanted – a guy admitting he cared for her, that he never wanted to hurt her, that he wanted to protect her… And the child in her was already running away, screaming. Without a thought she found herself snapping: "Well, I guess you thought wrong, didn't you!"

To her amazement, his response was not what she'd expected. She'd expected groveling and foot-kissing and any number of self-debasing acts. But not the way his eyes hardened, nor the scorn which suddenly filled his face.

"Wait a minute!" he began indignantly, "you mean to say that all those times _you_ flirted with _me_, it _wasn't_ because you liked me? Are you saying that you were actually leading me on?"

Now it was Emma's turn to bristle with outrage. This was definitely _not _what she had been expecting. "_Excuse_ me? I was not flirting with you!"

"_What_! You mean that time you kissed me on the doorstep… All those sexy innuendoes… Not to mention, telling me I could stare at your breasts anytime I wanted to… None of that was what you'd call 'flirting'?"

She gasped, furious that _he_, of all people, should be challenging her.

"How _dare_ you…!" she began hotly, but for once he wasn't going to stand for it.

"Save it, Ms. Frost," he cut in coldly, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him look so serious. "You've made yourself perfectly clear. Okay, so I may be a nerd and a total loser, but you know what? I don't deserve to be used like that. And I don't believe you have the nerve to accuse _me_ of taking advantage of you the other night when I was obviously nothing more than a plaything to you." He shook his head in sudden disgust. "You know," he added, "I was going to apologize to you about that night because I'd really hoped that if a night like that was ever going to happen between us, it was going to be nice and respectable and not a drunken fling. I was going to ask you whether you wanted to start over, but obviously you're going to be moving onto your next conquest tonight. I don't know what it is with you, Emma. Do you enjoy torturing poor, defenseless guys like me or something? 'Cos if you do, you should really go and get yourself a life – no guy's gonna waste his time waiting to be…to be _whipped_ into submission by you." He looked at her again, but this time it was a look of such disdain and disapproval that even though she'd been boiling with anger all the way through his speech, she was now temporarily shocked into silence. He'd been planning to apologize, to talk things over! He'd really wanted to be with her, to make a fresh start! He'd wanted them to be serious! But now it hardly mattered because she'd finally done it. She'd chased him away, just like she did every man in her life. Yet paradoxically she wanted nothing more than to have him close.

"I'll leave you to your 'date', Ms. Frost," he added cuttingly. "I hope sleeping with him turns out to be more worthwhile than sleeping with the low-down gardener."

He brushed roughly past her and stalked off back to his bicycle, leaving Emma simmering with rage at his parting comment.

"Robert Drake!" she stammered after him, her left eye twitching maniacally. "You are _so_ fired!"

"I already quit!" he threw back over his shoulder before jumping onto his bike and pedaling away with as much dignity as one could manage on a bike. Normally Emma would have found the whole picture comical, but now she was definitely not laughing. For the first time Bobby Drake had grown a backbone and told her exactly what he thought of her – and for some reason she found that very exciting indeed. Without thinking she raced to the end of the driveway, but all she caught of him was a final glimpse of his perfectly-formed tush as it finally disappeared round the corner.

"Darn you, Bobby Drake!" she wailed at no one in particular, childishly flinging her purse to the sidewalk in a temper. "Why do you have to be so goddamn cute!"

-xXx-

Warren had been sitting in the same dingy diner the last hour and a half, most of which he'd spent staring at the coffee dregs in the bottom of his cup. He'd been sandwiched between the window and a homeless bum, and while the homeless bum had been ranting on about how stuffing newspaper into your underwear was the best way of keeping warm in winter, Warren had been staring into his cup and seeing only one thing.

Betsy Braddock's face in the coffee dregs.

Either he was hallucinating or he drastically needed to go home and get some sleep.

Instead he ordered himself another crap coffee while the homeless guy began comparing the intrinsic thermal qualities of the _National Enquirer_ as opposed to the _New York Times_. Warren said nothing and pretended to listen. It wasn't that he minded at all. He was a rich man with rich man's tastes, true, but in his present mood slumming it didn't seem entirely unnatural. He even felt quite wistful about it, as if no man's life was truly complete unless he'd been rejected by a beautiful woman and had spent the following morning sulking in a trashy diner in the rough part of town.

Yup – this was real, pure and unadulterated life as it should be.

Now if only he had Betsy by his side right now, he'd be complete.

He stared at the bottom of his cup to find she was still there. Shit. He _really_ needed to go home and sleep.

Warren sighed and dug in his pocket for some change before getting up to leave. The bum had given up and left at some point during Warren's reverie, obviously finding him a less than engaging companion. He'd also left several of his newspapers lying around, strewn on the seat. Warren half considered doing a good turn and returning them to him – they _were _doubling up as thermal underwear for the guy after all – when something on one of the advertisement pages caught his eye. Reaching for the scraps of paper, he took it and read it over a couple of times.

"_Fashion house and associated textiles workshop for sale_," he murmured out loud to himself. "_Millicent Collins, 1950's model and current owner of the Glamour fashion house, has retired and is selling her business to the highest bidder. Prospective buyers will need a working knowledge of and/or interest in the fashion industry_. Hmmm."

Warren tore the advert off the page and folded it neatly before slipping it into his coat pocket. He paid the bill and left the diner, this time with a small, self-satisfied smile on his face.

He didn't care if Betsy didn't want him. Even if she pushed him away again and again, he was going to show her how much he really cared anyway.

And he knew exactly how he was going to do it.

-oOo-

Jean was lying in bed, staring at the clock.

It was Saturday afternoon, and the previous night felt like a lifetime ago, so near and yet so far. She wondered what Logan was doing – lying in bed, staring at the clock, same as she was? Staring at the clock and thinking about her, the way she was thinking about him? She closed her eyes and rubbed her face with the heels of both hands, exhausted. She'd barely slept for thinking about what could've happened last night and didn't. She could've woken up this morning in _his_ bed. They could've kissed and talked about anything and everything from their favorite colors to the different countries they'd traveled to. They could've showered together and gotten dressed together and laughed and joked over breakfast.

She could've embarked on her first affair.

_Oh God…_

What had she been thinking?

She opened her eyes and looked at the clock again. Scott would be back in two days. She'd have to pick him up at the airport and ask him about Madelyne Pryor and what they'd been up to. She was completely dreading it.

Next to the clock the red light of the answer machine was flashing. Somehow she just knew it was Scott. He'd promised he'd phone her back but she didn't want to know what he had to say. She was just too scared.

But what if he'd been telling the truth? What if he _hadn't_ been having an affair? What if that was what he was going to tell her? Jean clung desperately to this hope. It gave her enough courage to reach for the 'play' button and give her fiancé a second chance…

…Before the doorbell went off.

Jean jerked upright at the sound, her heart racing. Feeling half relieved and somewhat ashamed with herself for doing so, she jumped out of bed, went to the door and threw it open.

To her horror, on the other side stood Rogue, her face white and drawn, her eyes haunted and red.

"Rogue!" Immediate and instinctive concern washed over Jean, replacing any self-pity she'd felt before. She knew the look on Rogue's face. She'd seen it before – four years ago. She didn't even waste time thinking on what that meant. Reaching out, she placed an arm round her friend's shoulder, feeling her shudder beneath her touch, and quickly drew her into the apartment. "Let's get you inside, hun," she spoke soothingly, closing the door behind them.

Rogue said nothing as Jean led her to a nearby couch and helped her sit down. She knew better than to push Rogue for information. Still holding her arm comfortingly round her friend, she sat down next to her. "Is there anything you want, Rogue?" she asked gently. "Shall I make you a cup of tea? I'll get you a cup of tea and when you feel ready you can talk about it."

The words of kindness seemed to send Rogue over the edge. Jean had been just about to get up when Anna clutched onto her sleeves so tightly that she was alarmed and had to sit back down again. Before she could get any words out Rogue buried her face into Jean's shoulder and suddenly – and violently – began to cry.

Jean was shocked. She'd seen Rogue cry on numerous occasions, but she'd never seen her bawl the way she was now. It was a few moments before her natural mothering instinct finally won through and she was able to hold the Southerner comfortingly in her embrace. For several minutes Rogue clung to the redhead, weeping and hiccuping into her shoulder before her tears finally subsided a little. All Jean could do was pat her soothingly on the back. The look she'd seen on Rogue's face was so desperate, so familiar that she had little doubt as to what it meant. And for the first time the caring mother figure that was Jean Grey didn't know what to say to comfort her.

"Anna…" was all she could get out before the disconsolate Southerner raised her head and volunteered the information herself.

"It's…it's Cody," she stumbled through her tears. "He…he's gone, Jean. Cody's gone…"

She burst into fresh tears and Jean pulled her back into her embrace, shocked beyond words at the news. Of course she and Betsy and Emma had known that it was an eventuality that was bound to happen sometime, but now that it _had _happened it had come so suddenly…

"Oh God," she breathed, knowing anything she said would be painfully inadequate. "Rogue, I'm _so_ sorry…"

She felt Rogue bury her face into her shoulder, the sobs that racked her body. "Oh Jean, you don't know how glad Ah am you're here!" she exclaimed, her voice muffled. "Ah just didn't know who else to turn to…"

Jean shushed her softly, rocking her gently in her embrace.

"When did this happen?" she asked in a low voice.

"Yesterday…yesterday evenin'," Rogue replied tearfully. At the words Jean pulled back, taking her friend by the shoulders and looking at her sternly. "_Yesterday_? And you didn't even tell any of us! Rogue, you should've phoned instead of staying at home and bottling this all up inside yourself! You _know_ we would've been there for you, any time of the day or night!"

Rogue said nothing for a long moment, scrubbing her eyes with an already worn tissue, her mouth suddenly crumpling in agony.

"Oh, Jean," she said in a broken whisper, "Ah've done somethin' terrible! Ah…Ah just don't know what t' do!"

Jean was by now truly upset to see the terrible pain her friend was in. She swallowed hard on the lump in her throat, wondering what to say as she stroked Rogue's hair softly, knowing she was unable to console her but wishing desperately that she could. Suddenly all her own troubles paled into insignificance.

"What is it?" she asked, as gently and encouragingly as she could.

"You're goin' t' hate meh!" Rogue wailed plaintively, her shoulders quaking.

"Now you _know_ that's not true. What could you possibly have done that's so terrible? I promise you, I won't think anything bad of you. How could I?"

Rogue looked away, sniffing miserably, her voice wavering in despair.

"Ah…Ah spent the night with Remy LeBeau," she finally confessed, on the verge of tears once more. "And Ah don't think Ah can ever f'give mahself!"

If Jean had been shocked before she simply didn't know what she was now. All she could do was stare at her friend in disbelief.

"See, Ah knew you'd look at me like that," Rogue muttered accusingly, turning away again. "And Ah don't blame yah! Ah feel like Ah've spit all over Cody's mem'ry!"

She dissolved into tears again and Jean, now out of her temporary shock, hastened to put her arms round her friend once more.

"Tell me about it," she murmured soothingly. "I promised you I wouldn't judge you and I'm not about to start now. You know you can tell me anything, Rogue. _Anything_."

Rogue sniffled and wiped her nose with the now-tattered tissue, replied: "Oh Jean – Ah'm not even sure how it happened. Y'see, the hospital phoned me while Ah was at work… an' Remy just happened t' come across me when Ah'd just received the news. He was so kind, Jean… Takin' me back to his place, treatin' me decent, givin' me mah space… And then Ah was just feelin' upset and vulnerable, and just so incredibly _lonely_, and somehow… it just _happened_."

"And you think he was taking advantage of you?" Jean asked quietly, gravely. "You think he knew you were feeling vulnerable and he used that to bait you?" _If that's the case, I'll head over to that guy's place right now and rip his head off for hurting Rogue!_ Jean added mentally to herself, gritting her teeth viciously with uncharacteristic violence.

"N-No," Rogue replied dejectedly, her tears subsiding somewhat. "An' that's the crazy part. _Ah_ was the one who started it all." She turned, looking at Jean with wide, timorous eyes. "Ah know you won't understand – Ah barely understand it mahself since Ah just ain't that kinda gal, but… Ah just wanted – Ah just really _needed_ – to feel that somebody wanted and loved meh just like Cody had. And Remy… He's been such a jerk… but so_ wonderful_ at the same time, and… and it was so _nice_, Jean, like it was more than just comfort sex…" She faltered, dropping her head into her hands, and Jean couldn't have expected in her wildest dreams what she heard next. "Ah think… Jean, Ah really think that Ah might be fallin' in love with him…"

It was the last in a long line of shocks Jean had received in the past 24 hours, and even as she tried to say something soothing and comforting to her dear friend, the gravity of Rogue's dilemma began to dawn on her and she could say nothing. She could barely even begin to comprehend how Rogue felt, let alone take it all in.

"But what if," she began after a moment, trying wildly to make some sense out of it all, something _good_ and worth holding onto, "Rogue, what if he feels the same way? Couldn't there be a chance that his kindness was down to something more than just mere concern or even deception? Could it be he really cares for you too?"

Rogue shook her head fiercely in answer.

"No. The guy just ain't capable of love, Jeannie. He wouldn't know what it looked like even if it came up and bit him on the ass!" She paused and sighed with frustration. "Look, Jean, Ah don't doubt for a minute that his kindness was genuine. But love – no way, it ain't _possible_. He just saw a chance t' score and took it. And Ah _let_ him. That's what hurts." She looked away, her voice lowering slightly. "And y'know what's even crazier? It felt so _special_ when Ah was with him. Ah _hate_ him, Jean, but Ah can't help thinkin' how wonderful he is, and it's so _wrong_ but when Ah'm around him he makes me feel like a million dollars, mah stomach turns somersaults every time Ah think about him…" Even through her tears, her pale face was flushed and she couldn't help smiling. "If only he wasn't such a goddamn whore…!" she finally cried in frustration.

By now, Jean didn't doubt just how strong Rogue's feelings for the wayward Cajun were, even if Rogue herself did. So she squeezed her friend's shoulder encouragingly and said: "Maybe you should go back and talk to him…" But Rogue brushed aside the suggestion firmly, shaking her head with typical stubborn resolution.

"No, Ah just _can't_ face him again Jean, not so soon after the fact. Besides," she added in a lower tone, "the fact is, my fiancé's just passed, and Ah've just gone and betrayed him by sleepin' with another man. It doesn't matter how or why it happened, it was just _wrong_."

Jean couldn't help but silently agree. Of course – Cody had only just passed away, and Rogue had him and his family to think of. Even Jean knew the guilt Rogue must be feeling at the moment and it far surpassed her own. Wordlessly she took her friend's hands in her own and held them tightly, trying to will any strength she had left into her.

"Rogue," she began gently, not wanting to bring up the painful memories but unable to find any other way of bringing things home to her friend, "we all know Cody would only ever have wanted your happiness. Even you said so yourself. That's why we supported you when you were with Erik and Joe and all those other guys. We wanted you to find happiness again. And if you really care about Remy, then I'm sure Cody would be _glad_ to know you were finally happy once more. Isn't that right?"

Rogue was silent, ruminating on the redhead's words a moment before shaking her head regretfully.

"Ah know Cody would want me to be happy," she agreed softly. "But the question is: can Remy LeBeau give me that kinda happiness? To him, makin' me happy would probably just amount to how long he could keep it up in bed. And that ain't what Ah want from a relationship, Jean, not now, not never."

Jean gave a small, wry smile, glad to see that despite everything Rogue's usual canny sense of humor was still intact. Still, they both knew that for now it was a hopeless case. Rogue's first duty was to her dead fiancé, the man who'd always held that first and most important space in her heart.

"Jean," Anna spoke up quietly, "Ah need t' use your phone."

Puzzled, Jean reached for the cordless phone on her coffee table, her eye catching the flashing red light again of the answer machine again. But now Scott and Logan were the furthest things from her mind, replaced only with concern for her bereaved friend.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Ah haveta say goodbye t' Cody," Rogue replied in an undertone. "Ah haveta book a flight down to Mississippi right away."

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	18. Monday Blues

**Disclaimer:** Characters are copyrighted to Marvel...blah, blah, blah...

**A/N:** Just wanna say thanks to Tammy for pointing out the mistake last chapter... :)

-xOx-

* * *

**Mix 'n' Match**

**(18) Monday Blues**

It was the average Monday from hell – well, almost.

After all, it wasn't every day that the self-professed hottest man in town was kicked to the curb by an equally gorgeous femme, even after providing her with his most excellent services in bed. So no, it wasn't really an average Monday from hell at all. In fact it was worse than usual.

Remy LeBeau had spent the entirety of Saturday and Sunday waiting for today so that he could corner Anna – not that he knew what he'd do once he cornered her. Maybe ask her out on a date or whatever else sensible people did these days. Not that it really mattered, since she was already taken. It didn't stop him from being fully prepared to act desperate and say stupid things to her, like 'I-care-about-you' and 'I'll-be-anything-you-want-if-you-drop-that-loser-for-me'.

Instead, to his frustration, she hadn't turned up for work at all. Not that he blamed her for not wanting to see him. It wasn't that he didn't mind taking another man's woman. He'd done it often enough. But for some irritating reason he just couldn't do it to Anna. It was a crushing blow to his male ego and the humiliation was making a bad day even worse. To top it all off Jean-Paul was now on his case, asking him why Anna had neglected to call before taking an impromptu day off.

"I've got a meeting scheduled with your creative team," his irate boss was ranting at him from the other side of his desk, "and she chooses _today_ of all days to pull a sickie on me?"

Remy sighed. It wasn't enough to be proven a lovesick loser. JP had to be in a bad mood, and he was bearing the brunt of his boss' usually mild temper.

"Look, JP," he replied in an irritated tone, "Anna ain't _sick_. She's just upset. Friday night she got a phone call before she left. She had a row with someone. Probably her boyfriend." He pouted a little and pulled out a cigarette from his breast pocket.

"Well that's still no reason for her not to turn up for work," JP huffed. "And even if a row with her boyfriend was enough to have her bed-ridden, she could've at least phoned me and let me know that…" He paused mid-sentence, only just realizing the weight of Remy's words. "Wait a minute. She has a _boyfriend_?"

Remy lit his cigarette as casually as he could manage. "Oui."

"How do _you_ know?"

"I just do, okay!" he exploded. He didn't mean to be prickly with Jean-Paul, but if this was going to turn into a game of twenty-questions… … Jean-Paul was silent a moment, wordlessly assessing the petulant downturn of Remy's lips.

"You didn't proposition her, did you?" he asked suspiciously.

"Of course I didn't," Remy scoffed, knowing his busybody friend wasn't going to buy it. True to form, he didn't.

"You did, didn't you!" JP exclaimed in delighted outrage.

"Non, I did not!"

"And she turned you down!"

"Absolutely, definitely _not_!"

By now Remy was glowering so heavily it would've been enough to bring rain clouds on. The ferocity of his expression was enough to tell JP that he'd obviously touched a sore spot. He wasn't surprised. In fact he felt a bit smug about it. He'd seen this coming a mile off, enough to even warn Remy about it beforehand. He'd been all geared up to gloat when the occasion arose, but seeing how upset the irrepressible Cajun really was about Ms. Raven's apparent non-single status, he decided it was best to back down.

"Okay, so she's spoken for," he stated jovially, trying to raise his friend's evidently dampened spirits. "So what? There're plenty of other girls round here, mon ami, and they're all falling over each other to get your attention. You've got a whole typing pool out there to play lucky-dip with."

"I don't want no 'lucky-dip'," Remy replied stubbornly. "I want Rogue."

"Rogue?" Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow. "What is this, you're calling her by pet-names now? Remy, I know you like playing cat and mouse, but you've really got to admit defeat on this one. You've had your fair share of beautiful women. Adding Anna Raven to the roster is just being plain greedy."

"Like hell!"

JP sighed, half-expecting Remy to stamp his foot and throw a tantrum. "Listen, Remy," he began reasonably. "I know you _like_ Anna, and I can't say I blame you. If I was more AC than DC I'd be crazy about her myself. But she's already attached and she's just not interested. It's a waste of time. You're never going to get her in your bed, face it."

The statement was more than Remy could bear. He stood up quickly and turned towards the window, attempting to hide the look of dismay on his face. He wished his friend would just leave him alone to brood in peace. _You don' know de half of it, JP,_ he thought miserably. _She ain't a waste of time at all. In my bed or out of it._

Behind him, Jean-Paul pulled a face, finally giving in and standing up. "Sorry, Remy, but I can't sit arguing with you about your would-be conquests all day. I've got things to do and so have you. You just think about what I said, d'accord? Let Anna Raven go, mon ami. She isn't worth it." He paused and moved to the door. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

Remy watched out of the corner of his eye as JP left, letting out a sigh of relief when his boss finally disappeared. Free at last, he delved into his pocket and brought out the small photograph he'd found in his lounge that Saturday morning. He didn't know why he'd kept it. If it had been someone else he would've ripped it up and thrown it away and thought no more about it. But when he looked at the photo…of her with her arms round her nameless lover… when he saw how truly happy and beautiful she looked he knew he couldn't let go of it. He'd never seen her looking like that. And if this man made her that happy, well, he just couldn't break them apart, because he knew in his heart that he couldn't give her that kind of happiness.

He pressed his forehead against the window and dragged hard on his cig. For so long he'd fought with himself over her, pursuing her with a single-mindedness, promising himself nothing more than just a taste of the goods. And now he'd tasted her it wasn't enough. She wasn't just a cheap fuck. And no woman had been more than just a cheap fuck since…

_Since her…_

He thought of the wedding invitation still stuck in his desk drawer, a dark cloud looming over him, and he'd left it there purposely, unable to let go. Unable to let go. Dozens of cheap fucks and he still wasn't able to let go. Because that had been the closest to real love he'd ever known, and he couldn't get it back.

_Merde_…

He knew what this meant. He knew where this was going. He didn't like it one bit.

He'd got what he wanted, that one night of fantastic sex, no questions asked. It was all he'd ever asked from her.

The only problem was, now he wanted more.

-oOo-

It was a familiar feeling, the gut-wrenching anticipation of standing in arrivals and waiting for your loved one to return.

Jean leant against the railings and sighed. It was only eleven O'clock and it was already what would qualify as a stressful day. Earlier that morning she'd dropped a nervous and uncertain Rogue at the airport for her last-minute flight, trying to reassure her that ringing Remy LeBeau and explaining things to him wasn't the best idea considering the circumstances. To Jean, Rogue had two quandaries to sort out and the best thing to do was sort them out one at a time. Her first loyalty was to Cody and his family, and whatever her feelings for the Cajun, right now he was her boss and not her boyfriend. She didn't owe him anything. When she came back, that would be the time to call him up and sort things out. Rogue had reluctantly agreed to the sense in this. She was scared and Jean couldn't blame her for that. She'd kissed her twice on the cheeks and hugged her hard for extra luck. The next moment, Rogue had gone, gone to face the demons of her past.

Leaving Jean here, waiting for Scott and demons of a different kind.

The first batch of flyers had started pouring into the terminal and Jean stood on tiptoes, craning her neck for a sign of her fiancé. All around her the same old drama was going on – families, friends, long-lost relatives and lovers throwing their arms round one another, kissing one another, smiling and laughing and embracing with sheer joy that they were finally back together. It was the kind of thing that Jean couldn't help but feel touched by every time she experienced it; and yet today it left her cold.

She didn't know whether, when Scott came out those gates, she'd be able to do the same for him without it being a farce.

And suddenly there he was, coming out from behind a family of holiday-makers, tired and a little travel-worn, but looking out for her like she was looking out for him. Feelings of both relief and dread crashed through her. In an instant she was raising her hand, waving to him, calling his name. He heard her, his eyes searching for her and finally catching her own. He smiled and suddenly she found herself rushing forward, an influx of conflicting emotions enveloping her, taking her all at once so that she didn't know whether she felt sad or happy, relieved or anxious to see him again. Maybe it was all of those and more. Before she knew it her arms were about him and his were about her, and she was clinging to him, clinging to him as if to keep him with her always, as if she wanted him to assure her that this wasn't a mistake. As if she knew she was going to lose him.

"I love you, Scott," she whispered desperately, more for herself than for him.

She felt his face in her hair.

"I love you too, Red."

-xXx-

Betsy was lounging in Neal's living room while her over-enthusiastic boyfriend was going off on some anecdote about his trip to Geneva. While she was sitting there looking a very picture of demure attentiveness, in fact her mind was completely and utterly devoid of all thoughts. Actually, not quite _all_ thoughts. She was having a thoroughly nice time fantasizing about her kiss with Warren that Friday night, and how, if Neal hadn't so inconveniently turned up, he would've slowly divested her of all her completely unnecessary clothing, carried her over to the bed and used that delectable mouth of his in places she didn't dare to mention in respectable company…

Just when her fantasy was about to get to the juiciest part it was cruelly interrupted by her cell phone going off. Excusing herself from Neal's seemingly endless yarn, she reached for her phone and saw that she had an unknown caller. A little confused – and still a little flushed from her rather lewd thoughts – she answered the call anyway.

"Hello, Elisabeth Braddock speaking."

"Good afternoon," an unfamiliar and slightly accented female voice spoke down the line. "This is Ruth Seraph calling on behalf of Glamour Inc."

"Glamour Inc?" Betsy repeated, confused. Of course, she'd heard of Glamour Inc. Most people in the fashion industry had. It was owned by Millicent Collins, an ex-model from the fifties who'd gone on to start her own fashion house. She was renowned for liking things done the old-fashioned way – having garments cut and designed by her own personally chosen group of tailors, in her own backyard. She even had an exclusive store in Queens where one-of-a-kind garments were sold at fairly reasonable prices considering they were all homegrown. Of course Betsy knew about Glamour Inc. She just had no idea why they were calling her.

"First and foremost," Ruth Seraph continued in her sing-song accent, ignoring Betsy's question, "we at Glamour Inc. would like to thank you for your interest in purchasing our business."

Betsy was so surprised she nearly dropped the cell phone. _What the fuckl?_

"_Purchasing_?" she almost screeched. "Sorry, but there must be some mistake! I…I have no interest in purchasing Glamour Inc. I…I didn't even know it was for sale!"

"This is Ms. Elisabeth Braddock speaking, is it not?" the woman asked suspiciously.

"Well, yes, but…"

"Then there is no mistake," the woman replied efficiently. "And the purchasing of our business is by no means sealed or fixed by a legal contract, Ms. Braddock. Mr. Worthington merely informed us that you were interested in Glamour Inc and that we should speak to you first."

At the mentioning of the all too familiar name Betsy almost squealed out loud; but somehow she managed to hold her tongue. Glancing over at Neal she saw that he now had the TV on and was seemingly unconcerned by the call. Seeing she was safe, Betsy quickly dashed off into the hallway and whispered urgently into the phone: "Mr. Worthington? You mean _Warren_ Worthington?"

"Uhhh…yes, that would be the Mr. Worthington in question," Ruth Seraph returned, nonplussed as to why Betsy would suddenly be whispering down the phone. "Has he not informed you of his interest in making a bid?"

"No…I mean, _yes_!" Betsy enthused as quietly as she could. "I mean… not exactly, you see, he hasn't really been forthcoming with the details," she blabbered, knowing she was sounding stupid and didn't make an ounce of sense.

"Oh…Good." The woman still sounded confused. "Well… I was simply calling to ask whether you would be interested in taking a tour of our facilities and joining us for an informal interview. Ms. Collins has heard all about your modeling career and would be very interested in keeping Glamour Inc in the family, so to speak. Would a meeting tomorrow afternoon sound satisfactory to you?"

Betsy's jaw almost dropped to the ground. She didn't know how or _why_ this was happening, but it was beyond her wildest dreams. She didn't need a second thought.

"I'd _love_ to!" she practically gasped.

"Very well," the woman replied, back to her efficient self again. "I'll put you in for a slot at three. Shall we see you then?"

"Absolutely!" she enthused.

"Good. We'll see you then, Ms. Braddock."

Betsy switched the call off and danced on the spot like a boisterous five-year-old. Then she managed to calm herself enough to sail back into the lounge as if nothing had happened – even though she couldn't quite wipe the smug grin from her face. She felt like she was walking on cloud nine.

"You look happy," Neal noted suspiciously, looking up from his wildlife program. "Who was that on the phone?"

"Oh, uhm… Just a firm calling about a job interview," Betsy replied airily, going to mirror and running a comb absently through her purple locks.

"Job interview?" Neal echoed in amazement. "I didn't know you'd applied for a job!"

"Well, I did. I…I just wanted to keep it a surprise. You know, didn't want to get my hopes up too high… Glamour Inc are selling up and I was thinking of, you know…buying."

"What!" Neal turned to face her, outraged. "Glamour Inc! You're thinking of _buying_ Glamor Inc! You mean to tell me you're going back to work with those fur-toting, skin-wearing stick-insects again! Betsy, I would've thought better from you by now!"

"Neal!" Betsy swung away from the mirror, shocked and hurt at his words. "If I _do_ end up owning Glamour Inc, do you think that means I'll sell out on my beliefs! I can't believe you'd accuse me of such a thing! And you could at least be happy for me! Do you know how long I've been out of work? At least now I can get some self-esteem back! Or would you rather I was poor, inadequate little ex-model Betsy Braddock, the girlfriend you can push around?"

"Betsy, I'm sorry, that wasn't what I…" Neal began, but this time she wasn't having it.

"No, Neal! This is the last straw! I've had it with your constant guilt-tripping! I'm going to the interview tomorrow and there's nothing you can say or do to stop me!" She turned and grabbed her purse and keys from the nearby coffee table. "Don't worry," she added coldly. "I'll see myself out."

Once she'd said the words she didn't find it difficult anymore. She _could _stand up for herself. And as she left Neal gaping behind her she felt like she could challenge the world – yes, even her mother!

For the first time Betsy walked out that door feeling more satisfied than she had done in months.

-oOo-

"The car's running out of gas," Scott noted from his place in the passenger seat. Jean leaned over slightly to check the petrol gauge.

"Oh darnit," she groaned. "I forgot to fill-up yesterday." She cast her fiancé a sidelong glance. "Do you think we've got enough to make it home? We're nearly there."

"It's probably best to fill-up now, just incase we forget again," he reassured her. "There's a gas station just round the next couple of blocks."

"Right you are – as always." She gave him a little smile and they journeyed on a couple more minutes in silence before Scott finally spoke up uncomfortably.

"Jean…Did you get round to listening to my messages on the answer machine?"

Jean was quiet a moment, seemingly focusing on the road but actually trying to work out a suitable reply. The truth was, she'd deleted the messages because she hadn't wanted to hear his excuses. If he had any to give she wanted to hear them from _him_, standing right there in front of her, and not from some machine.

"You left me some messages?" she asked at last, feigning surprise. "I didn't get them. I guess that stupid answering machine must be broken – again. I'll call the repairman, get it fixed."

"Oh." Scott was silent a moment. "Why didn't you phone me then?"

"I…um… Well, the truth is," she began quickly, "Rogue was in a spot of trouble and I had to help her out and I just didn't have the time or energy to talk things over with you." She took in a deep breath, continued: "Cody passed away over the weekend."

She knew Scott had never approved of Rogue but nevertheless Jean detected a sincerely regretful look on his face. "Oh, Jean… That's awful… How's she taking it?"

"Not well at all," she replied, not wanting to go into any personal details. "But she left for the funeral this morning. Maybe facing up to her past will do her some good."

"Yeah… Let's hope so."

They fell into silence again as they stopped at some traffic lights. Jean blew a lock of red hair out of her face and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She knew he wanted to talk. She just wasn't sure she was ready for it.

"Jean," he finally spoke up.

"Scott?" she replied.

"Look…I know what you're thinking."

"So what am I thinking?"

"You think… I'm having an affair."

Jean sucked in her lips and said nothing for a moment, wishing the lights would change so that she could have an excuse not to look into his face, not to concentrate on what he was going to say.

"_Are_ you?" she asked at last.

"Jean," he began in an undertone, "after all this time together, do you really think I'm capable of hurting you like that?"

She was quiet, turning the weight of his words over in her mind. "So it _was_ innocent then?" she asked desperately, finally turning to him. "This Madelyne woman being in your room?"

He looked her in the eyes, held her gaze in a way that told her that whatever he was going to say next wouldn't be a lie.

"It was far from innocent, Jean," he told her solemnly. "But not in the way you think. It was Madelyne who was coming onto _me_."

The lights changed. Jean stared at him for what felt like a long time as this new revelation seeped into her skin. So Scott _hadn't _been cheating. He'd remained faithful to her. She'd been willing to think the worst of him and she knew why. Because she'd been thinking the worst of herself. She'd been contemplating an affair and so it made it easier to think Scott was doing the same. She felt terrible. If she'd felt guilty before she felt a million times worse now.

"Scott…maybe we should talk about this when we get home," she breathed.

A car honked them loudly from behind.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Now's definitely not the time."

Jean quickly shifted the car into gear and sped off towards the gas station. Even when they got there the both of them were quiet, but in a way Jean was glad for the silence – it gave her time to think. She filled up the gas tank while contemplating on the inevitable discussion they'd have when she got home. She would have to do it. She would have to confess her transgressions to Scott, her attraction to Logan and the fact that in the end, her good sense had won out. After all, he'd been honest with her and he deserved no less. She was going to be good. She was going to be brave and confess everything!

The resolution now firmly in her mind, Jean went to pay her receipt. As she entered the store she brushed against another customer who was coming out.

It was Logan.

She nearly dropped her purse.

"Logan!" she cried.

He was dressed in a T-shirt and leathers, his face clean-shaven and his unruly hair slicked back. He looked good. He looked as if nothing had happened between them, as if he was moving on with his life. He looked so good it made her stomach churn with sudden need.

"Jean," he replied, quietly, with that same undercurrent of passion he'd spoken with that last Friday night. When she heard it, she knew. She knew her feelings hadn't changed at all. It made her heart ache, her flesh burn where they had touched. She found herself unable to move away from him, unable to say a word – but it was already too late. He was looking over her shoulder, looking at Scott waiting in the car, oblivious. And Scott's presence said it all. With calm resignation Logan moved his eyes to hers, not resenting her, not blaming her, letting her go. Jean held her breath.

"Bye, Red," he murmured.

Nothing more needed to be said.

She watched him leave knowing all she wanted was to have him back.

-xXx-

For a minute or so – maybe two – it'd been like heaven.

I'd woken up Saturday morning to find someone's arms around me, holding me close, his body spooning gently against mine. It was the way Cody had held me, back in the day, when my life had been so much simpler and happier, when I'd thought I was one of those lucky girls who'd managed to get things right first time round. Except it wasn't Cody. _He_ wasn't Cody. And that was half the problem, and half the solution. I didn't _want_ him to be Cody. I wanted him the way he was. But at the same time, I felt guilty, that if he _wasn't_ Cody I shouldn't have been with him.

I have no illusions about what happened that night. Half of it was most certainly down to a need for comfort sex. But the other half – _that's_ the half that worries me. He'd been so kind, so gentle, going out of his way to be nice to me, making it feel like something more and I can't get that out of my head. I know now why all those gals are so hung up on him. Because being with him makes them feel incredible and wanted and sexy and special, makes them feel like they're the only woman alive.

I keep on thinking that if I hadn't pretended to be asleep that night things may have been different. I can't forget how he'd come back to me, how he'd touched me and kissed me and whispered my name, how I couldn't help thinking maybe he'd _say those words_ just like Cody had before…

But of course, they'd never come.

It hadn't stopped me from hoping that he meant to say them, because the look in his eyes when he'd gazed at me, I _knew_ that look, I _knew_ what it meant…

I'd woken up the next morning realizing I'd been kidding myself. I knew he'd never say those words, because he didn't feel them for me. He wanted me – perhaps he wanted me more than most women he'd wanted before, but it still didn't change the fact that it'd been nothing more than a one night stand. I couldn't really blame him for it entirely – I'd wanted it too, and so I'd let him take advantage of me. But I'd wanted it for different reasons. To him it was just sex. And to me, I now knew, it was something more.

I was falling in love with him.

It'd been too much to take in, to even admit. As soon as I'd woken up and knew what I was feeling, I knew I couldn't stay. If I stayed a moment more, if I waited for him to wake up and whisper those sweet-nothings into my ear, I never would've been able to break myself away. And I know I deserved more than that. I deserve more than being taken advantage of. I deserve more than spoiling Cody's memory with a cheap and nasty fling.

It's been two days and now I'm on the plane, flying home to Mississippi, running this mantra desperately over and over in my head. It doesn't, however, change one important factor.

Cheap and nasty fling it may have been, but it would've been a cheap and nasty fling with a man I love.

And it's been a long time since I loved anyone.

I sigh and try to stop thinking about him. Saturday, the _morning after_, had to have been one of the worst days of my life. I'd gone to Jean, confessed everything to her. I'd felt awful, nothing short of a scheming adulteress who'd done her man wrong. It made it worse knowing I'd enjoyed every second in the Cajun's bed. I just had to get away. I just had to go back to Mississippi and face Cody one last time, even if it was the only way to get that night out of my mind.

And here I am, and I'm still thinking about it.

Him and me and one amazing night between us… one terrible, horrible mistake, one huge big mess.

It seems as if it's fate. Ever since the moment Cody ended up in that coma, everything seems to have gone wrong with my life. At first, the doctors had said he'd pull through. Then they'd said if he ever woke up, he'd be unable to walk, talk, fend for himself. Finally they came back with the inevitable – he'd never recover. He'd never wake up. Slowly, day by day, week by week, he'd degenerate, waste away until there was no more Cody left. He was going to die.

Nevertheless his parents had refused to let go of him. His lifeless, listless presence continued to fill me with guilt and shame. Every time I went back to see him, the past would just keep flooding back, and I couldn't let it go because _I was to blame_. And so, I tried to draw a line under the both of us. I knew I couldn't carry on hurting – I had to get on with my life.

I tried to draw that line, really I did.

I ignored the letters and phone-calls from the hospital. I stopped going back home to Caldecott. I even hid away my engagement ring, knowing I'd never get to marry the man I'd always wanted to marry, so what was the use in holding onto that part of us?

And then I met someone else. I think I knew from the beginning that he was going to be that _someone else_. The moment he'd walked into that interview room and all those fireworks had gone off? Yup, that would've been _the moment_. I figure a part of me was still holding onto Cody. The guilt-ridden, shame-filled part of me, telling me I shouldn't fall in love again. So I'd gone out of my way to hate Remy LeBeau, and the fact that he was an utter asshole had made the process all the easier. But what gal can deny her true feelings? I deserve to be happy. I deserve to find love again. It's what Cody would've wanted for me, right?

And yet again fate conspires to bring everything crashing down around me.

And so I'm going back home, to say goodbye to all the good times I had, all the good times I'm beginning to think I'll _ever_ have.

-oOo-

It was three in the morning and the bar was practically empty. Even the regulars, Logan's personal friends and patrons, had all trundled home long ago.

Logan stood behind the bar and absently wiped a few empty glasses clean. It was about the fifth time he'd cleaned the same glass, but he didn't want to go home, because he knew that if he went to bed he wouldn't be sleeping anyway. He'd be wondering why, when everything had been going so _right_, the beautiful redhead named Jean Grey had rejected him. Okay, so she was about to be married to some po-faced executive who had a good job, money, security and a red Ferrari over Logan. But the truth was plain to see – she was just too good for the jerk.

Logan sighed and placed the glass neatly back down on the bar. He stared at it, smirking at his twisted reflection. He was the kind of guy that didn't let many people get close to him, least of all women. It was kind of ironic that after all that pushing away, he was finally willing to take a chance on someone, only to be discarded. Life just wasn't fair sometimes.

There was someone else in the _Hideaway_ who didn't look like he was doing too good either. That arrogant Cajun asshole, Remy LeBeau, was sitting at the other end of the bar, smoking his tenth cigarette of the evening and drinking his eighth vodka on the rocks. He'd been sitting there since nine last night. Logan didn't like the guy. He never had. He was a slimy, good-for-nothing, lecherous toad. But even _he_ had to feel sorry for the poor bastard, given the state he was in.

"Look, Gumbo," Logan called across the length of the bar. "Yer really need t' get yerself home. How 'bout I call yah a cab, huh? Think you've had enough drinks t' last yerself a lifetime of hangovers there."

Remy scowled at him. "Shuddup an' bring me another one," he drawled miserably. Logan half considered grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and dragging him outside to sleep it off in the streets. But then, he thought, if he had half a chance right now, he'd be doing the same. So he poured out two drinks – one for Remy, one for himself – and went over to the other end of the bar.

"Where's your lady?" Logan asked gruffly, setting the glass down in front of him. "Ain't never seen you in here without one."

"She's gone," Remy slurred, giving a dramatic gesture with his glass and sloshing half the contents onto Logan's well-polished bar. "Oth'wise I wouldn' be sittin' here drinkin' wit' you, would I, homme. Instead of talkin' t' a hairy li'l runt such as y'self… I'd be havin' mind-blowin' sex wit' de most gorgeous woman dis side o' de universe. If I had a choice, which one you t'ink I'd rather choose?"

"If I had a choice," Logan began dolefully, swigging down a mouthful of alcohol, "between standin' in this shit-hole talkin' to a randy li'l punk like you, and makin' out with a beautiful redhead, what d'you think _I'd_ be doin' right now?"

Remy set down his glass – wonkily – and peered at Logan from behind his bangs.

"You too, huh?"

"Uh-huh." Logan downed his drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and poured another. "Women. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em… an' all that crap."

"Yeah," Remy sighed, his eyes going wistful. "Sometimes I wonder why de Good Lord made 'em… Dose gorgeous bodies… Dose luscious lips an' long, long legs… An' dose breasts…" he made a somewhat obscene gesture with his hands, "an' all dat long, silky hair…"

Logan gave a cold, humorless laugh. "Sounds like you've got it bad, Gumbo," he remarked. "Thought you had every broad round here wrapped round your li'l finger."

"Shuddup," Remy glowered, holding out his glass for a refill. Logan obliged him. "You don' know dis femme. She gorgeous, homme. Like everyt'ing you'd t'ink Botecelli's Venus was supposed to be an' more."

"Ain't never seen this 'Botecelli's Venus', kid," Logan grunted. Remy started rummaging round in his pocket and finally pulled out a worn, dog-eared, passport sized photograph. He handed it to Logan.

The girl with her arms around the all-American pretty-boy was beautiful alright, but Logan had seen plenty of beautiful girls in his time and nowadays he only found a certain type attractive, someone with a certain _something_ in them. The most appealing thing about _this_ girl, he had to admit, was her eyes.

His mind involuntarily wandered back to his fiery-headed, green-eyed doctor again.

Logan frowned and dropped the photo back on the bar. "She looks happy," he said softly. He was beginning to feel sorry for the guy. The two of them actually had more in common than he thought.

"Yeah," Remy nodded plaintively, crushing the butt of his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and lighting another. "She happy. Dey both happy. An' what femme'd ever be happy wit' me? All I do is play fast an' loose an' break dere hearts."

"Hey," Logan leaned in towards him, "You gotta pull yerself t'gether Gumbo. Okay, so she's happy with some other loser. So what? There're plenty more moths gonna flock round your little flame. Forget about her. Let her go."

Remy frowned, took a drag on his cigarette and said: "Would you say the same 'bout your redhead?"

Logan paused a moment. For the sake of the argument, he would've said yes. But he knew, deep down that given a chance he'd be beating the crap out of Mr. Perfect, sweeping Jean off her feet and whisking her off to some desert island in the sun somewhere.

"Yeah, you're right," he replied at last. "If I had a chance, Red'd call off the weddin' and be runnin' off with me." Remy looked up, shooting him an expression that clearly said, _you poor bastard_. But Logan took no notice of it. He had little enough time feeling sorry for himself, let alone others feeling sorry for him. "But if that's the way you feel 'bout Green Eyes there, then you're in luck," he continued. "Think she's gettin' hitched, Gumbo? You ever seen a ring on her finger?"

A look of enlightenment lit Remy's face.

"You want her, you go get her," Logan added. "If she feels half the way you do 'bout her, I guarantee she'll come runnin' straight to you. But if not…" he shrugged, "at least you'll know where you stand. You ain't got nothin' t' lose, kid."

"But de photograph…" Remy protested.

"Is just that. A photograph. For all you know, trouble could be in paradise. Maybe the lady's bored and needs a little extra spice in her life." He smirked, shrugged. "That's where you step in."

Despite himself, Remy began to grin. "Extra spice is one o' my specialties, frere," he joked. "You're right – dis Cajun ain't got nothin' t' lose. If de femme's really happy wit' dat jock down dere, den at least I'd've tried. But if she ain't…"

"Then you can be spending more time havin' fun with _her_ than stayin' here talkin' t' me," Logan finished for him. "But for now," he added, "I think you should curb your knight-in-shinin'-armor routine and get some rest. I'm calling you a cab home, alright, Gumbo?"

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	19. Chasing the Sun

**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Marvel and not to us...

**A/N:** HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO US! Thanks **angelathene** for reminding us, otherwise we never would've remembered that it's been just over a year since we first started writing this story. Sigh, it only feels like yesterday --wipes away tears--. We'd like to do the round of thanks to all of you who've read, reveiwed, faved and supported this fic in any way - you are what keeps us writing and keeps this story alive! We hope you continue to read the story and that we don't disappoint. And stay tuned for the next chapter, when we promise some explosive revelations! Ciao!

_- Ludi _and_ angyxoxo_

PS: - to **A.M.bookworm247**- thanks for the super comment! Your assessment of the characters were so spot on we were chuckling to ourselves all the way through! Great stuff, girl:D

-xOx-

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(19) Chasing the Sun**

The next day was an unusually bright and sunny Tuesday – not least because Christmas was fast approaching. That afternoon Emma was supposed to be out eating lunch with Sebastian Shaw, but instead she was in Rogue's apartment – not that she had any real reason to be complaining, since her date with Shaw last Saturday evening had been a disaster.

It wasn't that she didn't like him. In fact they got along well as casual business acquaintances; it was just that anything more between them was doomed to catastrophic failure. For one thing he was a good twenty years older than Emma and Emma did prefer her toy-boys. For another he was so much like her that instead of flirting over dinner they'd ended up talking about rate hikes and corporate takeovers. Which was all well and good, but it didn't make her feel any better about the situation in hand, namely getting Bobby Drake off her mind for good. Consequently she'd spent half the meal with her mind firmly elsewhere.

Shaw was a thick-skinned old devil though, and hadn't noticed Emma's mind wandering at all. In fact, he'd enjoyed their night of evil scheming so much that he'd suggested they have lunch together the following Tuesday. And like a fool, she'd accepted.

Conveniently however, Rogue had finally phoned the plumber to come round and had asked Emma to sort everything out for her. At the time Emma had grumbled and moaned about it, but now she couldn't be more thankful for the opportunity to avoid having lunch with the male mirror-image of herself. So she'd driven to Rogue's apartment, let herself in, and waited for the plumber to appear.

In the meantime she pottered round Rogue's place, sighing at the dirty dishes still left in the sink, the magazines sprawled all over the coffee table, and the unwashed clothes still piled on the bed. She knew her friend had been going through a tough time recently, but this mess really was ridiculous. Then again, Emma did have a housemaid to clean all her stuff, but she really couldn't stand anything being in disorder.

Emma rearranged a few of the romances on the bookshelf and sighed irritably to herself. Where was that godforsaken plumber? It seemed like everyone she met these days was either unreliable or incompetent. It really was most annoying.

Just as she was about to phone the plumbing company and give them a piece of her mind, a knock came at the door.

"It's about time," she muttered to herself and went to open the door. She was very much surprised to find that the man in the doorframe wasn't the plumber at all. He didn't have his toolbox for one thing. He was dressed in a very nice Armani suit and shades for another.

"Can I help you?" Emma asked in her usual frosty tone. Nevertheless she purposely took a bit of the edge out of her voice because a) he looked somewhat respectable and b) he was drop-dead gorgeous. _Rogue, what exactly have you not been telling me,_ she thought to herself as she looked this perfect specimen of manhood up and down thoroughly.

"I'm lookin' for Anna," came the reply, complete with prerequisite sexy accent. Emma was beginning to think she'd fallen asleep and was dreaming. "Anna Raven. Is she in?"

"And you are…?" Emma asked, looking him over again. He returned the favor, just for a moment, no doubt appreciating the white bustier she'd chosen to wear today – not to mention the two appendages it was supposedly supporting but was vainly attempting to contain instead.

"Remy. Remy LeBeau," he introduced himself, leaning against the doorframe casually, a slight smile playing across his lips as he gazed at her bosom. "I'm Ms. Raven's boss."

Emma sensed a man whose usual tactics would be an attempted seduction, but he seemed far too distracted to do so, much as he appeared to appreciate the generous vision of femininity before him.

"Ahhhh," she couldn't help but voice. So _this_ was the infamous Remy LeBeau Rogue was constantly gabbing on about. Emma had to admit, he certainly was delicious – and she had a very big sweet tooth when it came to men. But she _did_ have morals and she had sense enough to know that if Rogue really liked him – which she suspected she did – then he was well off the menu. "Sorry, Mr. LeBeau," she said, "but I'm afraid Anna's out-of-state. Is there a message I can pass on for you…?"

She saw his face fall and decided he wasn't used to having such a hard time with women. _Way to go, Roguey_, she thought wickedly to herself, suppressing a chuckle. _He's totally into you, and you're making him suffer! Now there's a girl after my own heart!_

"No," he replied at last, "no message. I was jus' wonderin' if you had a phone number… or an address… or any way I can contact her?"

Jesus, he really _was_ into her. Just wait until Emma told Betsy and Jean all this!

"Sorry, she didn't leave anything…"

"Den you know how long she'll be gone?"

"She said maybe a week…"

"A week?" If he looked anything, it was distressed. He ran a hand through his hair, continued: "Listen, Ms. Uh…"

"Ms. Frost," she offered. "Emma Frost."

"Emma… a _pleasure_ t' meet you, by de way… Is dere any chance y' could tell me _where_ she is? Only I really need t' talk to her and it's kind of urgent and…"

Emma almost felt sorry for him, and that was _not_ in her nature. Damn – he was really, _really_ into Rogue!

"Look," she interrupted, finally taking pity on him. "She said something about going back down to Mississippi. But if you want my advice, you'll leave her well alone."

He looked deflated at her words and she was moved to reassure him.

"Listen. She _likes_ you, loverboy. But wherever she is right now, she's upset, and I suggest you wait for her to get back to NY before you tell her this 'something' that's so urgent it's got your boxers in a twist." She paused and he gave her a look, an odd mixture of innate charm and puppy-dog sadness. _But you're not going to listen to my advice, are you_, she thought, and gave a theatrical sigh. "She's gone back home to Caldecott County," she finally confessed, not knowing why she'd caved into him so easily. He grinned, and before she could protest he'd taken her hand and kissed it.

"Ms. Frost, dis Cajun is eternally indebted to you."

"I wouldn't owe me anything if I were you," she warned him half humorously, looking him over again and thinking what a shame it was he was taken. "Not unless you have a masochistic streak and a penchant for certain types of bondage."

He raised an eyebrow. "Only wit' de right kinda woman," he replied with a sexy little grin.

"And I sense that woman isn't me," she sighed dramatically once again. "Now get going and stop wasting my time!"

"I hope you taught Anna a few t'ings in de bondage department," he added cheekily, and before she could think of a suitable reply he'd gone.

Emma slammed the door shut and frowned to herself. This latest encounter had made an amusing diversion – at least it had proved to her that, miserable as Rogue was at the moment, perhaps happiness was just round the corner for her. And Emma felt jealous. Yes, she actually felt jealous of Rogue! Neither Rogue nor Remy may have known it yet, but Emma could tell from a hundred miles away that those two were crazy for each other. And what did she have? A balding older man who reminded her of just the person she was trying to escape – herself.

She suddenly wished she hadn't been so hasty and shouted at Bobby the other day, because, after all, she'd secretly quite enjoyed they're little tryst, not to mention the fact that he'd got pissed enough to tell her exactly what he thought of her. And now all she wanted to do was go back to the house and phone him… perhaps apologize to him…maybe even invite him in for a cup of tea and a civilized chat… and quite possibly (if she was in a good mood) give him the opportunity to kiss her again.

But she'd promised Rogue she'd wait for the plumber to come and she couldn't let her down, could she?

It was another half-hour before the guy finally showed up, and by then Emma was literally itching to get back home before she changed her flighty mind and decided not to call her handsome gardener after all.

-oOo-

Betsy glanced down at her watch and decided she was a little too early. She still had a good ten minutes to kill before her interview with Glamour Inc started, but she was just too excited to sit around in her SmartCar waiting. Sliding out of the front seat she brushed down her chic new suit and looked at the facade of the elegant old building in front of her, the _Glamour Boutique_ where Millicent Collins sold her very own homemade fashions. Standing there for a moment she got a vision of what this place could become if she, Betsy Braddock, became its proud new owner. The first and best eco-friendly fashion house in New York, the _Braddock Boutique_.

It didn't sound bad. It didn't sound bad at all.

"So you made it after all."

At the familiar voice Betsy swung round to find Warren standing a little way behind her, dressed in a simple dark gray pinstripe suit, his usually unruly blond locks combed back to reveal the chiseled openness of his handsome face. She'd decided that she wasn't going to push things between them, but even so she couldn't help her heart skipping a beat at the sight of him.

"I sure did," she nodded. "And I must say it was a surprise receiving that phone call yesterday. Your doing, I suspect?"

"But of course," he grinned easily. "I saw the ad in the papers and I just couldn't resist. I know it was awfully gauche of me but I hope you don't mind. Nothing's fixed yet, of course – I just thought you'd like to have a look round, see how you liked it."

She laughed a little, unable to be cross with him. "Don't worry, I think I can definitely find it my heart to forgive you. But Warren… I really have to admit that even though daddy's pretty well off – and while I still have some savings from my modeling days – I really can't afford to be buying an entire fashion house – "

"Oh, no no no," he held up a hand and brushed away her comment. "That's not what I meant at all. Of course I wasn't expecting you to put any money into this venture, Betsy. That's what I'm here for."

"_You_?" she voiced in amazement.

"Well," he colored slightly and scratched the back of his neck in a way she already found adorable. "I was thinking, maybe I could expand my interests into the fashion industry… Worthington Inc needs this opportunity, Betts, now that one of its potential mergers may not be pulling through… Only problem is, I don't have a clue about _anything_ in the fashion industry, and I need someone to act as managing director in my stead… And I was racking my brains to think of _someone_ who had the relevant experience and what the hey! Your name just popped in there…" He stopped and looked at her, continuing enthusiastically: "Just think about it a sec, Betts. With this place you'll be able to make your own clothes any way you want. No furs, no skins, no nothing you don't want. And you'll have your own workshops and tailors too, so you won't have to use those Chinese sweatshops you were talking about. It'll be perfect."

Betsy listened to his speech with a growing sense of enlightenment as she realized that this was more than just a potential joint business venture between them. He was trying to show her how much he cared about her, how much he knew she wanted to reconcile both these things she loved – fashion and the environment. For the first time someone understood her. Someone had taken notice of her dreams, and it meant more to her than anything. If she hadn't had an ounce of restraint she would have flung her arms round him there and then, but she knew it wasn't the time for such public displays. Even if she was grateful for his attentiveness, there was so much they still needed to talk about first.

"Warren," she began instead. "I don't know what to say. This is…it's more than I could've ever dreamed of. I… I just don't know whether I can accept…"

"Well, of course there's no pressure," Warren hastened to add, thinking she was going to refuse him. If anything it made her warm to him all the more. "Today is just a little tour and a chat with Ms. Collins afterwards. There's absolutely no obligation – if you don't like it then you won't hear another word from me. I promise."

She glanced at him, trying to gauge the sincerity in his eyes. As always, she found nothing but warmth and honesty in his gaze. She'd been a fool ever to doubt him.

"Alright, Warren," she nodded with a grin. "I'll play ball. In fact, I'd love to." She nodded to the entrance, said: "Shall we take a look inside?"

His face lit up as a relieved smile played across his lips.

"I'm ready when you are, Ms. Braddock. Always."

He walked up to the threshold and as he did so he held out an arm to her. The only thing left for her to do was to take it, and so she did.

-xXx-

Jean set down the phone and walked from the balcony to the lounge where Scott was sitting going through some more paperwork. Surprise, surprise. With a sigh she threw herself down on the couch and snuggled up beside him as best she could.

"More paperwork?" she asked, slipping her arm through his.

"Yup," he nodded absently. "Have to go through the main points raised at the conference before I go back to work." He paused, looking down at the top of her head. "Who was that on the phone?"

"Oh, just Rogue letting me know she's okay," Jean replied morosely.

"How's she holding up?" Scott asked with genuine concern. Ever since he'd come back, Jean had noticed that he was investing more effort into their relationship, and apparently this even extended to her friends, whom Jean knew he'd never approved of.

"Could be better," Jean sighed. "She said she went to the viewing today, which of course was very difficult for her. Apparently Cody's parents totally blanked her – as if things weren't bad enough for her already," she added distastefully.

Scott hmm-ed his agreement, now completely focused on his work again. Jean frowned up at him. He'd barely been back a day and here he was, nose to the grindstone yet again. It frustrated her.

"So," she began flippantly, "when are you going to tell me about this Madelyne?"

She physically felt him freeze under her touch. Nevertheless she'd gotten his attention. His jaw was set as he slowly he placed his papers down.

"Jean, I told you the truth yesterday."

"I don't doubt that you did," she returned seriously. "But I need to know the truth. The _full_ truth."

His mind was now totally focused on her. Turning, he took her hands in his own and looked her deeply in the eye.

"Her name's Madelyne Pryor," he explained after a moment to gather his thoughts. "She's my counterpart in our California-based sister company. We met at the private bash the night before the conference started. We exchanged a few pleasantries, had a nice, normal chat. She seemed…like a nice person, Jean. I had no idea of what would happen next."

"And what _did _happen next?" Jean asked in a murmur.

"I honestly don't know," he replied, his tone troubled. "I don't know whether it was something I said or what, but she just suddenly became fixated with me. I couldn't get rid of her. At first it was just little things, like insisting she eat breakfast at my table every morning, or making a point of sitting next to me at the conference table. I thought she was just being friendly. But then she started getting too close for comfort – touching my hand while we were talking, making suggestive comments. Jean, believe me when I say I hadn't done anything to warrant such attention. I just didn't know what to do to get rid of her."

Jean listened quietly. From the agitated look on his face she could tell that he was still genuinely troubled by his encounter with this woman. In a way she was kind of flattered that another woman found her fiancé attractive, but the thought disturbed her and she put it aside.

"So what did you do?" she queried.

"Well," he continued, "I started to feel really uncomfortable, so I told her that I wasn't interested in her as anything but a colleague and an acquaintance, and that furthermore I was engaged to be married. I thought it'd get her off my back, but if anything it made her even more determined to get her hands on me." He took in a deep breath before carrying on. "That day – the day you phoned – she'd managed to worm her way into my room and when I came back from lunch she was waiting for me on my bed. In her underwear, no less! Well, needless to say I was shocked. I didn't know what to do. I told her the only woman I was interested in was you and I wanted her to get out. But she just came on even stronger. And then _you_ phoned."

He raised his eyes to hers, exhaled a long breath. "I know I sounded as guilty as hell, Jean, but it was only because I was so flustered. She just wouldn't get the message, even when you were right there on the phone to me. After you'd hung up, I finally managed to turn her out."

Jean saw how flustered he still was and attempted to reassure him, reaching out and affectionately straightening his collar for him. "And did she come back?" she murmured. He rolled his eyes almost humorously.

"She sure did. But no way near as strong as Friday, thank God. Seems she kind of got the message. Didn't stop her from flirting when she could though." His face straightened and he cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand, stroking her softly. "I'm sorry I worried you Jean. I promise you, there's no one I want but you."

"I know," she replied quietly, leaning into his touch and wishing she still felt that warmth inside, the warmth she felt when Logan touched her… Scott leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, and she closed her eyes, letting him do so.

"So," he asked her playfully, breaking their kiss by just an inch. "What did my gorgeous fiancée get up to while her man was away?"

She wanted to tell him about Logan, but she couldn't get the words out; because Logan was still on her mind, because she couldn't tell Scott that it was truly an affair that was over and done with. So she smiled a forced smile and said: "Oh, nothing much. Just the usual. You know, wedding stuff…" She shrugged.

"Now I almost feel guilty for having all the fun," he remarked jokingly. "But since we're on the subject, how about we go through those wedding costs again? Just to be sure?"

Jean watched on as he got out his giant calculator, and she thought, just this once, she'd indulge his obsession with money. While she went to get the receipts from the bedroom, Scott's words consumed her mind. There was no doubt in her heart that his words were sincere and that she should have been grateful.

So why was she still wishing that he'd given into temptation? Why did she still wish that she had a reason to run into Logan's arms once more?

-oOo-

Bobby was done with blondes. He was done with beautiful, sophisticated ladies. He was also done with insane, rich women who had a penchant for sado-masochism and who just happened to be his boss. In short, he was done with Emma Frost. From now on he was going to date nice, normal girls who liked to do the usual thing – eat out at the nearest Italian and make out in the theater. For this reason he was now sitting in the college cafeteria attempting to chat up the new Japanese exchange student. Opal Tanaka was pretty and black-haired and brown eyed, about as far from Emma Frost as you could get. Besides, all the guys said that Japanese women were hot for Western men, so Bobby didn't think he could fail to score even if he tried to. So far it was working. Opal sat and talked to him in her broken English, batted her eyelids and twiddled her hair a lot. It would've been fine if Bobby could stop his mind wandering onto Emma and her stupid rich boyfriend, Sebastian Shaw, or whatever his name was.

He was just in the middle of being taught how to say 'konnichiwa', 'sayonara' and 'domo arigato' when his cell phone went off. The caller was unknown, and, very much confused, Bobby picked up his phone and took the call.

"Hello?"

"Bobby?" It was Emma's rather shrill voice, and he immediately gave an inward groan. Alarm bells went off in his head. Why was she calling him?

"What do _you_ want?" he asked rudely, not knowing why he didn't turn the phone off there and then.

"Well…you, actually," came the reply, sounding very desperate indeed. Bobby didn't know whether to be shocked or pleased or angry, or all of them together.

"What? Why? Are your fish dying again or something? Because I already told you on Saturday, I quit."

"I know, I know," Emma interjected quickly, sounding as if she was going to have a nervous breakdown. "And yes, for your information, my fish _are_ dying, but that's not why I called you. Bobby I need you to come round so that I can explain myself and my actions properly and –"

Bobby rolled his eyes and glowered. Here it came. Emma Frost being her usual, manipulative self. No doubt if he did go round like the puppy dog she thought he was, she'd trample all over him yet again. He was tired of being her love-slave. He didn't trust her as far as he could kick her.

"Ms. Frost, you made yourself perfectly clear on Saturday," he interrupted coolly. "I could do without hearing anymore, thanks very much. And by the way, I'm _with_ someone right now. A _girl_. Listening to you rant is the last thing I want to be bothered with."

Usually he'd be skating on thin ice and he half expected her to start shrieking at him for his insolence, but she didn't.

"Bobby, I want to say I'm sorry!" Emma literally pleaded. "Listen – I was wrong. I was thinking about everything you said, and you were right about me. I'm an insensitive, manipulative cow and I don't deserve you. But Bobby…I _want_ to deserve you. I really, really _want_ to."

Bobby didn't know whether to be dumbfounded or jump for joy. Here he was, on the phone to what must be one of the most beautiful and powerful women in the whole of New York – and she was practically prostrating herself before him. Not only that, she _wanted_ him. She wanted poor, dumb Bobby Drake. And he simply couldn't resist getting a bit of his own back.

"Gee, I dunno Emma," he began airily. "I promised myself I was going to date nice, normal women now and well… Opal here is real friendly, she's been teaching me some Japanese and tonight we're gonna go watch some Kenuichiro Terosawa movies back at her place. I don't think I have any time to come down and listen to whatever it is you have to say…" He trailed off, feigning indecision.

"Then tomorrow, how about you come tomorrow," she beseeched him.

"Tomorrow? Sorry, no can do, Opal and I are going to watch the college team play."

"Then how about the day after?" By now it sounded distinctly as if Emma was going to wet herself if she didn't have her way. Bobby finally lost his temper and gave up toying with her.

"Look Emma, to tell you the truth, I don't know whether it's worth it. I mean, how am I supposed to believe you're not going to insult me again, or even that you're going to be serious with me for once? I just really don't want to deal with my head being screwed with again."

He expected her to finally get the message, realize her plan had failed, hang up and leave him alone. But to his surprise she continued, her tone half angry, half earnest. "_Please_ Bobby. Listen to me. Do I sound like someone who's scamming you? Dammit, Drake, I'm _begging_ you. I'm on my hands and knees here. All I ask is that you give me the benefit of the doubt. That's _all_ I'm asking. _Please_."

Bobby pretended to think about it. Truthfully he was skeptical about anything Emma had to offer him, but there was one thing he couldn't pretend and that was that he didn't care for his temperamental New York socialite. So he sighed and said: "Alright. How about Friday lunch time?"

"Yes! I'll take the afternoon off, you can meet me here." He didn't think he'd ever heard her sound so relieved. "Bobby…" her tone was suddenly softer, "thank you."

The next moment she was gone.

Bobby set down his phone thoughtfully, not knowing whether he was going to suffer for this later or not.

Opal looked at him, confused.

"Who's Kenuichiro Terosawa?" she asked.

-xXx-

Millicent Collins was a tall, slim and graceful woman in her seventies, and despite her well-earned wrinkles and salt-and-pepper hair, she still carried herself with an air of elegance few women half her age could muster. She could also have taught a few of her younger contemporaries something about fashion, wearing a classic blue dress suit topped off by a simple chiffon scarf and a single string of pearls. Betsy was thrilled to meet this legend amongst supermodels, and as she now sat across from the older woman, with Warren sitting by her side, she wouldn't have been surprised if she was dreaming. But every moment of it was real.

"It's a real pleasure to meet you Mr. Worthington, Ms. Braddock," the old model smiled at the two over elegant cups of tea in her function room. She smiled a benevolent, white-toothed grin at Betsy. "It was such a shame when I heard you'd given up the modeling profession, my dear. You had such talent."

"Well," Betsy replied rather bashfully, "I think I outgrew modeling really, Ms. Collins. You see, there were other goals I wanted to pursue."

"I can well understand that," Millicent nodded seriously. "Modeling is a great career, but one often finds that there is so much more one can offer the fashion industry – don't you think?"

"Oh, I absolutely agree," Betsy nodded enthusiastically. "Well…That's why I was interested in this place, really."

"So, how did you find it? The tour of the workshops, I mean? They are rather small, I'll admit – but I prefer things this way, really. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer a close-knit atmosphere amongst my staff – it does so much improve the quality of the garments we produce."

"I thought it was wonderful!" Betsy enthused. "And to be honest, I'm not really looking for anything big. My idea for the business – if Mr. Worthington and I purchase it, that is – is really quite small-scale. At least at first. I'm hoping to appeal to rather a niche market, so the size of your workshops isn't a problem at all."

"Excellent!" Millicent smiled, "I'm so glad you approve, dear." She turned to Warren, who'd been sitting quietly on the sidelines watching the two women talk with a slight smile on his lips. "And you, Mr. Worthington? What did you think?"

"Oh, I know absolutely nothing about the fashion business, if you'll forgive me, Ms. Collins," he replied good-naturedly. "If Betsy here thinks everything's in order then it's fine with me. Of course, we shall have to discuss things a little more between ourselves, but we were both very satisfied with what we saw today…Right, Betsy?"

Betsy nodded vigorously over her tea and cake, which was enjoying very much indeed.

"I'm so very pleased to hear it," Millicent grinned. "And if you should buy Glamour Inc, I should be even more pleased to know it was being left in such capable hands!" She sat up, her expression turning more serious. "But shall I get the contracts now – just for the both of you to have a look through before you make your final decision?"

"Of course, of course," Warren spoke up. "We'd love to."

While the older woman was busy getting her secretary to fetch the relevant documents, Warren leaned over towards Betsy and murmured: "So, what do you think?"

"I think you're wonderful," she replied, her mouth still full of cake. He beamed.

"And I think you need to swallow before you speak," he joked.

"Shut up!" she shot humorously at him before swallowing.

"Seriously," he said.

"Seriously, I think you're wonderful, Warren."

His smile grew so big she thought his face would burst.

"Flattery will get you anywhere," he replied saucily, then paused before asking in a rush: "You wanna go out for dinner tonight?"

Betsy almost choked on her cake. He was kidding, right? She couldn't want for anything better… Slowly she laid down her cup of tea and replied: "Warren, you already know I'm spoken for…"

"Yes, I know," he interrupted quickly. "I'm sorry, that came out totally the wrong way. What I actually meant was…" he rubbed the back of his neck again, betraying his sudden nervousness to her, "…would you like to join me for a business dinner? Where we can discuss the contract details?"

He finished, glancing up at her hopefully, expecting her to say no once more. But instead, she laughed.

"What?" he questioned in confusion. "What did I say?"

"Warren," she replied breathlessly, "you are _so_ transparent!" He gave a wounded look and she hastened to add in a lower tone: "Look, Warren… I'd love to go out with you, but right now… it's not the right time to be making that kind of decision. I…I really have to sort things out with Neal first."

"Sort things out?" He frowned. "You mean…?"

"I mean…" she replied prettily, a slight smile on her lips, "I'd really like to join you for dinner sometime this week – after I tell Neal it's over between us for good." His expression lightened and she smiled, added: "Maybe you and I could have, you know…just a casual date? Nothing serious, just a nice, normal meal out and a friendly chat?" She reached out and ran a finger under the lapel of his jacket, added: "At least until we figure we want something more?"

He looked down at the light, sensuous movements of her finger before returning his gaze back to her deep violet eyes. "I know what I want right now, Betsy," he murmured, "but if you want us to wait, we will. I'm willing to do anything you want."

She raised an eyebrow seductively.

"Anything?"

He grinned back wickedly.

"_Anything_."

-oOo-

It'd taken more than just his well-renowned charm to get a super last-minute flight down to Mississippi. It'd taken a whole lot of begging, pleading, tearing out of hair and a general humiliating self-debasement. But it was something Remy had been willing to risk if it meant he was going to find Anna again.

And now he was in his office, packing a few things randomly into his briefcase even though he knew they were things he wasn't likely to need. The only thing he'd need once he got there was his charm, his good looks, and a script full of 'I love yous' if he was ever going to get her back.

Dammit, he sure was swallowing a lot of masculine pride these days. He wasn't sure his ego could take much more.

He'd just called himself a cab to the airport when Monet entered his office without knocking. Normally he wouldn't have been too enthusiastic about seeing her, but he was much too preoccupied to care right now.

"You going somewhere?" she asked him when he ignored her entrance.

"M'gonna be away for a while," he explained, hunting his pockets for his wallet. "Be a darlin' and tell JP for me, willya?"

"Away?" she repeated in a suspicious tone. "Where? For how long?"

"Mississippi. Not sure how long yet."

Monet followed his actions with narrowed brown eyes. "Mississippi? Anna Raven's been away the past couple of days. Does this happen to have anything to do with her?"

"As a matter of fact, Mon, it does," he replied firmly. "You got a problem wit' dat?"

She was silent a long while, quietly assessing his words, her expression slowly lifting with enlightenment.

"You finally did it, didn't you!" she finally spoke, her tone one of breathless amazement. "You finally broke through that stuck-up hussy's barriers! You screwed her and sent her packing!" She sat on the edge of the desk, clapped her hands and laughed. "Well, this is all too good to be true!"

He glowered at her, finding an utter dislike for the woman he'd never felt before. "I'm glad you find it amusin', Mon," he stated between gritted teeth. "An' just for de record – it did _not_ happen dat way."

Her eyes went wide at his venomous tone. "Remy – _darling_! You're taking this _completely_ the wrong way! You got what you wanted and I'm happy for you! But don't you see that chasing after her is a big mistake?"

"Non, I don't," he replied firmly, making his way for the door. Seeing he really was in earnest, she jumped off the desk and stopped him halfway across the room.

"Remy, don't be an idiot! Isn't it painfully obvious? You scared her off and she wants nothing more to do with you!"

"I'd prefer her to tell me dat to my face, rather than hear it from you, thanks very much," he insisted, moving to the door again, but she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and forced him to face her.

"Remy, don't you get it? She knows you used her, she knows she's played with fire and she can't take the heat. Leave her be. She'll be back sooner or later…"

"Who says I used her!" he interrupted loudly, beginning to lose his temper.

"Pfft, come on, Remy," she scoffed. "We both know what you really want. You want this." She tugged him towards her, rubbing her body seductively against his. "And you know I can give it to you," she added breathily, before raising her lips and capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss. It was one step too far. He didn't mind being teased, taunted, or even beaten at his own game if the times required it. But not today. Not in his present mood. He pushed her away roughly and she staggered back, confused, angry, humiliated.

"What was that for –?"

"What d'you think!" he interjected before she could finish. "I don't know what kind of illusion you're under here Monet, but I assure you, it ain't reality! Okay, we had some fun, and it was great while it lasted. But when are you gonna get it into your thick head dat it's _her_ I want, not you!"

She glared at him, breathless, the truth finally dawning on her. And she looked hurt. She actually looked hurt, but he was so angry he didn't care anymore.

"I ain't been wit' another woman since she came here," he continued to explain in a low voice. "She's de real t'ing, Mon. I'm sorry."

She stood for a while, his words slowly sinking in. Then she violently swiped the back of her hand across her lips, wiping away the taste of his mouth as if it were some disease.

"You're scum, Remy," she spat at him as she finally left. "She'll never want you back."

Spinning on her heels she stalked out of the room without once looking back, slamming the door shut and leaving her parting words echoing ominously in his ears.

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	20. Crazy Thing Called Love

**Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Marvel.

**A/N: **Sniff, sniff. We're anticipating that there won't be many more chapters left to this story. That means, yes, MnM is gonna be over pretty soon! Boo hoo!

-xOx-**

* * *

**

**Mix 'n' Match**

**(20) Crazy Thing Called Love**

Remy arrived in Caldecott County early the next morning with nothing but his wallet, the clothes on his back, and the vain hope that by the time he was heading back to New York again, Anna Raven would be by his side.

Of course, by now he wished he'd had the foresight to bring a proper change of clothes, his cologne, and at least a razor, because his five O'clock shadow was really starting to look bedraggled rather than ruggedly sexy. And he knew that was definitely no way to go and charm a lady.

Still, he freshened up as much as he was able to at the airport before taking a ride to Rogue's hometown. Dodson was a picturesque community cradled by the muddy banks of the Mississippi, the kind of place that gave real meaning to the phrase moonlight and magnolias. The more he saw it, the more he was reminded of his own family home back in New Orleans, the place where he'd left so many memories behind – both good and bad – and hadn't returned to since his heart had been broken.

He looked out the cab window pensively, watching the cars and the people streaming past. Suddenly, it wasn't so hard to admit. _His heart had been broken_. And since then, he hadn't wanted another woman to touch it for fear it'd break again. It was ironic that for the first time in years, he was willing to take a chance on someone. He was willing to take a chance on Rogue, even if she threw the offer back in his face and broke his heart all over again. He wanted her that much.

He got out at the local modern convenience store and paid the cab. The next couple of hours he spent looking for Rogue the hard way – asking people if they knew her, or where he could possibly find her. The early afternoon found him exhausted and hungry and no closer to finding his wayward Mississippi river-rat. He'd be darned before he was going to give up on finding her, but it was no use wandering round on an empty stomach, so he stopped by at the nearest cafe for some grits and coffee.

The waitress was a pretty young blonde who was obviously pleased at his attentions and gave him plenty of coy smiles and an extra cup of coffee on the house. Remy smoked a cigarette in peace, enjoying the sunshine and thinking how useful his good looks and innate charm had turned out to be. _Not dat it ever did me any good wit' Anna… _

He sighed and sipped his coffee, thinking how both frustrating and amusing it was that the tables had been turned on him. Usually he was the one giving the ladies the run-around; back in the day he and his friends had laughed and joked about it, even made bets and gambled on it. They'd begged him to divulge his secrets, just how it was that he managed to score so easily with any girl he chose. He'd always laughed and shrugged and said it was nothing more or less than his legendary mojo.

And then, to his surprise, he'd been tamed. For the first time in his life, he'd known what it was to truly love someone. In later years, after it had all fallen apart and she'd left him, he'd scolded himself, believing she'd made him stupid and soft and that he'd allowed her to beat him at his own game. He was left feeling bitter and resentful. For a while, women were the enemy. When he'd made his way to New York looking for a new life, he'd found an almost endless supply of women to seduce and make him feel in control of his life and his emotions again. Even finding something worthwhile at L&L hadn't stopped him. In fact, it'd become easier. He'd treated women like dirt and they'd lapped it up. But not one of them had made him happy the way _she_ once had.

Then, like a miracle, like fate, there she was – Anna Raven, gaping at him open-mouthed as he'd walked into that interview room what now felt like a lifetime ago. He'd basked in the typical reaction he got from women, allowing his gaze to run over her in a similar fashion, pleasantly surprised by the vision before him. And what a vision it had been. Scarlett O'Hara green eyes, cherry red lips just begging to be kissed, a shapely and voluptuous figure he longed to map out with both hands and mouth. She was wild and untamed, a brassy Southern bombshell whose innate sexiness came almost unconsciously to her and whose obvious disdain for him had made him want her all the more. The challenge had been too irresistible to be ignored. Time and again she'd brushed him off, giving him back as good as she got. It had made their flirtation, their kisses all the sweeter.

And then there was that night, that one wonderful, sexy and passionate night, one he could scarcely bring himself to believe had happened it had been so incredible…

And now he was hooked and he didn't want to give her up.

He wanted to walk her through these streets and visit all the places she'd ever known; he wanted to stroll down by the river with her on his arm and laugh and dance and kiss in the moonlight; he wanted to wake up every morning to find her still lying there beside him, those gorgeous green eyes gazing into his, letting him heal the hole in his heart he'd been neglecting for so long.

But she was already taken and now that he knew just how special she was it didn't surprise him at all.

He was in exactly the same position he'd put so many women in before, and it hurt.

"Heya handsome."

The blonde waitress was standing beside him with a pad in her hand, her lilting southern accent breaking him from his reverie. "Can Ah getcha somethin' else?"

He looked up and smiled at her, noticing how she flushed prettily in return.

"No t'anks. If I drink anymore coffee, I'll be bouncin' off walls."

"Then how about somethin' else? We have some freshly baked apple pie just taken outta the oven…"

"No, really," he insisted. "M'fine. Got m'self a pretty girl right here t' look at, don't t'ink a man could be needin' anyt'ing more."

She giggled and smiled and blushed in a manner he found rather appealing, and maybe under other circumstances he would've taken things a little further with her, if his mind wasn't firmly set on someone else.

"Ah ain't seen yah round here before, stranger," she began shyly. "And Ah'd know that accent anywhere. You're Cajun, right?"

"Nothin' but," he grinned that devastating smile that managed to floor the girls every time. "Remy's de name. I'm just passin' through this town. Came here from New York dis mornin'."

"New York?" The girl's eyes lit up. "Wow. Sounds like you've been places. Me, Ah've lived here all mah life, and it's nothin' but borin'. Ah wish _Ah_ could go t' New York. Then Ah'd set mahself up with a whole new life, a whole new career…instead of bein' stuck in this here cafe, day in, day out!" She paused and flushed. "But here Ah am, blabbin' on again like always. What brings you through Caldecott County anyways, if'n yah don't mind me askin', Remy?"

"Actually," he replied, "I'm here lookin' for someone. And since you've been livin' all your pretty li'l life in dese here parts, chere, mebbe you could tell me where I could find dis person."

"Of course!" she returned, her big blue eyes earnest. "If'n Ah can be any help t' yah, that is."

"M' sure you can, chere," he answered. "See, I'm lookin' for dis femme – she's 'bout five foot eight, slim, wit' a white streak in brown hair…"

"You mean Anna-Marie Raven?" the girl interrupted before he could finish.

_Anna-Marie…? _

"Dat's de femme," Remy nodded eagerly. "You know her?"

"Everyone knows Anna-Marie," the girl answered, looking a little uncomfortable, which he was too distracted to notice. "B'sides she's one of those gals yah just can't miss…with that white streak in her hair an' all."

_Not to mention de fact dat she's de most beautiful femme dis womanizin' Cajun's ever met…_

"Could you tell me where she is?" he asked, his impatience getting the better of him now that he was closer than ever to finding her.

The girl thought a second. "Well, she left Caldecott nigh on four years ago. But if she's come back then she'll be stayin' with her foster mother, Irene Adler." She paused, and pointed up at a big, colonial style house, situated on a pleasant-looking hill not far away. "She lives up there."

Remy followed her hand with sudden hope welling inside him. Without another word he took some change out of his pocket and slapped it on the table alongside the bill.

"My t'anks, cherie," he said, standing up and facing the startled waitress. "And an extra tip in return for your oh-so-generous help." And before the girl could say anything more he had leaned over and planted a lingering kiss on her lips, leaving her blushing even more violently than before – and with a memory she wouldn't soon forget.

-oOo-

It was a gathering of three women, life-long friends with one of their number conspicuously missing.

They'd gathered in Emma's mansion to have one last proper fitting before Jean's wedding. It should've been a day of laughter and suggestive jokes. But with Rogue gone from their midst there was a distinct feeling that something irreplaceable was missing, and neither of the three women particularly wanted to elaborate on the reasons why their feisty Southern friend wasn't there.

Emma, complete with lilac bridesmaid dress and the all-essential plunging neckline, looked at herself in the full-length mirror and stuck her butt out in the air with an expression of intense dissatisfaction.

"Hmph," she grunted to herself. "Is it just me or has my ass gotten fatter since I last tried this on?"

Betsy rolled her eyes as she rearranged the lacy frills at her generous cleavage. "Emma, if you can fit into that skintight dress without your butt splitting the seams then no, I don't think your ass has put on weight. What is it with you and your butt anyhow?"

"Ugh, I just hate it!" Emma moaned, swiveling round and patting her posterior as if it would make a difference. "Why can't I have a butt like yours? You have such a skinny, supermodel butt. Or what about a pert one like Rogue's? Mine's all fat and lumpy."

"Generous curves are really hot right now," Jean put in from the sidelines, trying to be tactful but earning a penetrating glare from Emma that clearly said, _you are so not being helpful right now_. All Jean could do in reply was shrug.

"Why are you so bothered about how you look anyway?" Betsy questioned hotly. "Don't tell me you're going to be on the pull at Jean's wedding, now that you don't have Carlos anymore?"

"Oh Carlos-shmarlos!" Emma snapped, giving up on her butt and heaving her wonderbra back into place. "For your information, I don't give a damn about any of the guys going to Jean's wedding!" She paused, pouted and stared at her cantilevered breasts in the mirror. "I've got someone else in mind," she added in a haughty tone.

"Here it comes," Betsy muttered and began to hunt for her lipstick.

"Who?" Jean asked curiously from the other side of the room, where she was adjusting her veil in the mirror. It was a fiddly arrangement of lace tulle, and she was beginning to wish she wasn't wearing a veil at all. "That Shaw guy?"

"Good gracious no!" Emma looked shocked. "I might as well go out with my grandfather! Ugh!"

"Ohmigod!" Betsy suddenly looked up wide-eyed over her compact mirror, mid lipstick application. "It's Bobby Drake, isn't it!"

The smug look on Emma's face said it all. Jean and Betsy exchanged a quick look of surprise and delight before pouncing on their friend.

"What? So you two are _finally _an item?" Betsy cried.

"Well…not exactly," Emma shrugged with feigned nonchalance. Everyone knew she was secretly loving the attention.

"But I thought you fired him!" Jean exclaimed.

"Well, I did," Emma suddenly looked uncomfortable. "But I swallowed a king-size piece of humble pie and phoned him yesterday. You have no idea how much I humiliated myself just to get him to stay on the line. I asked him if we could at least talk things over, you know…set things right."

"And he said…?" Betsy prompted eagerly.

"He was reluctant," Emma replied, trying to make light of it, but both women could tell it had hit her hard – Emma had never had to beg for a thing in her life, and they knew that if she'd begged Bobby as hard as she'd appeared to, it meant she really did care for him. Emma continued, looking at her reflection with a despondent expression as she did so. "He said I'd insulted him and that he didn't know whether it was worth talking things over if I wasn't going to be honest with him. So I promised him I would be. I said I just wanted him to give me a chance to explain myself and apologize properly. And he said…" she sighed and smiled a small smile at herself, "he said… okay."

"Emma, that's great!" Jean enthused.

Emma shrugged. "It doesn't mean anything – yet. He said he'd come round tomorrow, talk things over. I guess we'll just see how things go from there."

Betsy gave a sarcastic whistle. "Well who would've believed it? Emma Frost thinking of going steady!"

"Shut up!" Emma huffed petulantly. "It's not like I'm signing my life away like Jean is!"

"Hey!" Jean cried, but Emma ignored her indignant tone.

"No disrespect, Jean, but can you _imagine_ living the rest of your life with _one_ man? I know I couldn't!"

"Well, not everyone's so cynical about men as _you_, Emma," Betsy cut in heatedly. "Honestly, you treat them like they're this season's fashion – once the novelty factor's over they're out the door faster than you can say Coco Chanel! You have no sense of romance, that's what your problem is."

"So?" Emma retorted hotly. "Romance is _so_ damn overrated! I couldn't _stand_ seeing the same guy day in, day out! Don't you ever get _bored_ with Scott, Jean? I mean, I don't get it. What's it_ like_ to be with a guy for five years straight? Don't you sometimes feel like you're just going through the motions, that getting engaged is just a natural progression because it's what normal couples do when they've been together for years? Is the sex still even good?"

"_Emma!_" Betsy gasped, shocked; but Emma shrugged calmly.

"I'm being serious, Betts. Think about it from my perspective, okay? Sure, I've been around the block a few times where men are concerned, but my longest relationship was what – two months? – and I only put up with him because he gave absolutely heavenly foot massages. I mean, what is it that makes a woman want to spend the rest of her life with one man when she could have her pick of many? I really _do_ want to know. So c'mon, Dr. Jean Grey. Why don't you tell me where I've been going wrong all these years?"

Jean was silent a moment, toying with the edge of her veil before shrugging.

"I don't know. Patience? Friendship? Humor?" She paused, about to say 'trust', but knew she'd feel a hypocrite if she did so.

"And does Scott have all these qualities?" Emma asked. "Is _that_ why you're marrying him?"

"What Emma _really_ wants to know," Betsy put in comically, "is doesn't sex at least play a _little_ part in it?"

Emma pretended to lunge at Betsy, who ducked and fell back on the bed laughing.

"Actually, Elisabeth Braddock, I was being deadly serious for once," Emma informed the chuckling ex-model, trying to look cross but failing miserably. "I hardly know a thing about Scott – we barely ever _see _the man!" She looked over pointedly at Jean. "What's wrong – doesn't Scott like us or something? Are we too vampish for his tastes? Is he afraid we'll turn you into a scheming seductress?"

This was all said jokingly, but was so close to the truth that Jean couldn't laugh about it.

"Well, um…" she mumbled nervously, her cheeks reddening, "maybe he does think you girls can be a bit…rowdy sometimes."

"Rowdy?" Betsy shrieked with laughter. "I knew it! Scott doesn't approve of us!"

"Now that's not true!" Jean retorted defensively.

"God, I'm only kidding!" Betsy exclaimed, looking a bit upset that Jean had taken things so badly. "Honestly, I wouldn't blame him if it was true. He wouldn't be the only one! I mean, between you and me… Neal didn't really like any of you guys either. Do you know what he called you, Emma? A cheap hoe with bad dress sense and delusions of grandeur!"

"He said _what_!" Emma swung round in outrage, her blue eyes flashing daggers. "Of all the _nerve_! I hope you phone that little toe-rag and turf his good-for-nothing ass out of your life pronto!"

Betsy lifted the mirror to her face and replied with great aplomb: "Don't worry, Emma. The deed has been done."

"So you told him it's over?" Jean asked quickly, glad to turn the subject away from Emma's uncomfortable questioning. Betsy nodded. She'd already informed Jean and Emma of the latest dramatic developments in her life – although she'd neglected to mention Warren to Emma, not to mention the fact that she had a date lined up with him that very Friday. Besides, Jean suspected that Betsy was still a little scared of Emma's reaction once she found out Betsy was dating her most hated enemy.

"Yup," Betsy returned. "I told him it was over for good. He ranted for five whole minutes before giving up. In a way I think he'd seen it coming. I said I still wanted for us to be friends, but he pretty much threw that back in my face."

"So he didn't take it too well then?" Jean probed.

"I don't think so. He was very cold when we hung up, but I guess I can't blame him."

"Sounds like it's all or nothing with him," Jean noted. "Notice how when you stick up for yourself he doesn't want anything more to do with you. Sounds like you did right in dumping him, Betts."

"I hope so." She paused and began applying her lipstick again before asking rapidly: "So… Anyone heard from Rogue? The funeral's today, isn't it?"

Jean nodded gravely. "Yeah. I don't think she's looking forward to it. She said she's glad to say goodbye to Cody, but she doesn't think she can face all his old friends and relatives. They haven't treated her kindly at all since she got there."

"Hmm," Betsy voiced worriedly, "I suppose they still blame her in a way… It _is _entirely natural after all…"

"What happened could've happened to anyone, Betts," Jean pointed out, removing the veil and setting it wearily aside. "Rogue was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn't her fault."

"I know," Betts nodded, "All I'm saying is that I can understand why his parents would act like that towards her… Cody being their only son and all…"

"Cody was the love of Rogue's life too," Jean returned sternly. "She lost just as much as his parents did and we shouldn't forget that either."

A short, gloomy silence settled over the three women before Emma suddenly spoke up more cheerfully from the sidelines: "Speaking of the love of her life…You'll never guess who I met yesterday."

"What?" Betsy's eyes were suddenly hawk-like. "Who?"

"Remy LeBeau." Emma replied smugly.

"_Remy LeBeau_!" both Jean and Betsy chorused in amazed unison. Emma nodded wordlessly.

"Ohmigod, ohmigod!" Betsy gasped and flapped her arms about manically. "That is so unfair! What does he _look_ like!"

"Exactly the way Rogue described him – only about a thousand times hotter!" Emma exclaimed dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Geez – if I was Rogue I would've jumped his bones the moment I laid eyes on him! And that accent!" She fanned herself with a hand. "The man is simply to _die_ for!"

"Ohmigod, this is too much!" Betsy squealed. "So did he come over while you were at Rogue's apartment? Was he looking for her?"

"Was he ever!" Emma enthused, leaning over the dresser to check her mascara again. "The guy was desperate! Asking me for her phone number, begging to know where she was staying… He just wouldn't leave! I'll tell you something girls. He is hotter for her that a warm day in Hell! Rogue isn't going to stay single long, I promise you that."

"Emma," Jean asked from the bed in softer, curious tone. "Did you tell him where Rogue was?"

Emma turned round again, a wry smile on her face. "Believe me, Jean, I didn't have a choice. He wouldn't leave until I'd told him. The guy's such a charmer! I don't know why, but whenever he looked at me I had this overwhelming need to tell him all I knew – and then give him my wallet, rings and any other pawnable item on my body as well. Not to mention my body itself," she added with a very large, wicked smirk. "And _then_ – get this – when I'd told him where Rogue was he actually kissed my hand! _Kissed my hand_, no less! Well, I didn't know whether to laugh or swoon or go down on him there and then!"

"Ohmigod, that is so _wrong_!" Betsy breathed. "But so _right_! I simply _must_ meet this guy!"

"Trust me, Betsy," Emma quipped jokingly, "this guy raises the bar about ten foot for all hot men worldwide. You'll never look at another guy the same way again."

"So Bobby Drake doesn't quite make the grade now, does he?" Betsy threw back sarcastically, to which Emma promptly stuck out her tongue and turned back to the mirror.

"Well," Jean attempted to say severely, a small smile nevertheless playing across her face, "I hope Rogue thanks you for leading him to her doorstep, Emma."

"Pfft!" Emma replied flippantly. "Rogue's insane! The way she was going on about all that ethical 'he's-my-boss' crap! The girl so obviously fancies the pants off the guy and is in mind-warping self-denial! You'd have to be brain-dead to waste your time procrastinating when a sex god like that makes himself available to you!"

"Rogue was only being loyal to Cody," Betsy scolded her. "You're so bloody cruel, Emma!"

"I don't care!" Emma pouted. "Look, I know Rogue's upset and she has good reason to be so. All I'm saying is, when there comes a time she wants to start looking to the future, she'll have someone there by her side to help her pick up the pieces. And Rogue's lucky she has someone, Betts." She turned back towards the mirror and added thoughtfully to herself: "She doesn't know just how lucky she is."

-xXx-

It was your typical old house on the hill, large and faintly decrepit, weatherworn yet somehow welcoming with it.

Remy stood out on the veranda, trying to connect Anna to the house, imagining childhood memories that he might never get to know. Somehow, even though the only Anna he'd known was the brazen and sophisticated New York businesswoman, it didn't seem so hard to place her in this magnolia-and-molasses background that seemed a whole life away from the buzzing hive of activity that was the Big Apple.

He self-consciously ran a hand through his hair and brushed himself down before reaching out a hand and knocking on the door.

There was no answer for a long time, and he shifted awkwardly on the veranda, wondering if anyone was in at all, or if she'd seen him coming over a distance and was purposely ignoring him. The thought distressed him and he shoved it aside immediately. Even if he had to break the door down he was going to have it out with her!

It turned out there was no need. Presently he heard the sound of someone approaching, the staccato rapping of a cane on wooden floorboards. He stopped slouching and stood up straight, just as the door was thrown open.

The woman on the other side of the threshold was a small, spare lady in her sixties, with a careworn face that looked as if it might have been beautiful once if it hadn't borne the weight of so many difficult years. She raised her head slightly, but not quite to the level of his face. Her eyes were obscured behind dark shades and in her right hand she held an elegant, polished, mahogany cane.

"Irene Adler?" he asked. The woman's face raised a little more, her brow furrowing at the unfamiliar voice.

"Yes?"

"My name's Remy LeBeau," he introduced himself. "I'm lookin' for Anna."

The woman's expression changed.

"You'd better come in," she said.

Irene walked round the kitchen with the brisk pace of habit. Remy sat at the dining table and watched her move, half impatient to hear about Rogue, half interested to see the place where she'd grown up. Irene intrigued him, not least because she seemed so unlike Rogue – and yet it was she that had brought Rogue up. He wondered what Anna had been like when she was a child – had she always been so beautiful, or just a gawky young teenager who'd blossomed? What made her sad about this place, what made her happy? Why had she decided to leave Caldecott at all? A plethora of questions suddenly overwhelmed him. He was closer to knowing more about Rogue than ever before, and yet he remained silent, not knowing whether asking this quiet little old lady about her daughter's past was acceptable or out of line. Instead he watched the brisk, methodical movements of the woman as she went about her everyday routine.

Presently she came up and placed a steaming cup of tea before him before slowly sitting down opposite him.

"So," she began mildly, "you're Remy LeBeau."

"You heard of me?"

"Anna mentioned you."

He didn't quite know how to feel about that. "Oh."

There was a faint smile on the old woman's face as she reached in her pocket for a packet of cigarettes. "She likes you," she said, popping one of the cigarettes in her mouth and patting herself down for a lighter. Seeing she couldn't find it, Remy reached out with his own and offered it to her. She continued to search, as if she hadn't seen him at all. It was only then that Remy realized that Irene Adler was blind. A surge of sympathy welled up within him. So Anna had spent her childhood looking after a blind foster mother… Somehow it was so like her. His heart went out to her even more than it had before.

Standing up, he leaned over the table towards the older woman.

"Here, let me." He flicked the lighter, lit the woman's cigarette. When it was finally smoking she sat back and smiled slightly at him.

"Thank you," she said.

He sat back down, looking briefly round the room. There didn't seem to be any sign of Anna, nor of any of her belongings. But there _were_ two cups left out by the sink, one small token that her presence had been in this house. His optimism grew a little.

"So she told you she liked me, huh?" he asked shortly. "If dat's so, den why'd she leave me?"

Irene pulled on her cigarette, her expression contemplative. "Coming here was something she had to do," she returned after a moment, rather cryptically.

"Den she should've told me."

"Should she? Does she really owe you anything?"

Remy pursed his lips and pushed the cup of tea aside, standing up and leaning towards the older woman. "Look," he began, "I don't have time for dis. I know Anna's got another guy, an' I know she probably doesn't want t' see me no more… But I have t' talk t' her. I have t' tell her how I feel."

"And how _do_ you feel about her?" Irene asked softly.

"I care for her enough to come all de way down here from New York even though I know she's already taken," he confessed after a moment. It was more than he'd ever be willing to admit to anybody but he really was desperate to see her again. "Look, Ms. Adler, if you'd just tell me where she is…"

"She's busy right now," Irene replied calmly, signing for him to sit down again. "It's best you don't go and see her."

"You mean she's wit' _him_, right?" he asked, crestfallen.

"In a manner of speaking, yes." She paused. "She's gone to pay him her last respects."

Remy stared sharply at her, stunned. Irene remained unflustered, not having seen his reaction at all. He pulled out the photograph from his pocket, flashed it at her, forgetting her blindness in his shock. "We talkin' 'bout de same guy here, Ms. Adler? De guy in dis picture?"

Irene smiled faintly. "I am blind, Mr. LeBeau. I never knew what he looked like. But if that is the photograph that Anna always used to carry round with her wherever she went… then yes, it's him."

Remy sat down again slowly, confused.

"You mean…he's…"

"Dead? Yes, Mr. LeBeau. He passed away just last week. Anna came here for the funeral this morning. She wanted to say goodbye."

Remy was silent, swallowing this new piece of information whole. The shock, the tears… the reason behind them all became clear to him now, not to mention the reason she'd run away after spending the night with him. He'd thought she'd just had a row with her boyfriend, slept with him, realized her mistake, and run off to make up with the guy, leaving Remyfeeling stranded and hurt. But it turned out it was Remy himself who'd made the mistake and read the whole situation wrong. He didn't know whether to feel upset or relieved. He'd been agonizing over her for the past few days and now that he knew she was available to him he should've been dancing for joy. But what stood in their way now was something a whole lot more complicated than any living, breathing boyfriend.

Remy ran an agitated hand through his hair and swore.

"_Merde_…"

Irene said nothing, silently blowing smoke across the table, waiting for him to speak. After a moment he looked up and asked with genuine concern: "Is Anna… Is she okay?"

The older woman felt for a nearby ashtray, pulled it towards her. "As well as you might expect," she replied soberly, setting the smoldering cigarette aside. "She was … very close to him."

"Tell me about them," Remy asked softly. Irene was meditative, saying nothing as she calmly lifted her teacup and took a sip as she ruminated over past events.

"His name was Cody Robbins," she began at last, placing the cup methodically back into its saucer. "He and Anna were childhood sweethearts. They were inseparable as children, and over time the feelings grew into something more. They fell in-love and soon after became engaged."

"Engaged, huh?" Remy repeated bitterly, looking down at the photo of the smiling couple in his hands.

"Yes," Irene nodded shortly. "Some said it was fate, that they were meant to be together, that they couldn't be suited to anyone else but one another. And Anna was happy. She never even wanted to look at another man. They were, to all intents and purposes, what most people would call the perfect couple." She smiled, a fond little smile at memories that now seemed somehow quaint and nostalgic. "Then, two weeks before they were about to be married, there was an accident. A car accident. It was a miracle they both survived."

Remy chewed on his bottom lip, his expression pensive. "And Anna… she was de one behind de wheel?"

Irene nodded grimly. "Yes. Luckily she got away with some bruises and a few broken ribs. Cody wasn't so fortunate. The accident left him in a coma and the doctors said there was no hope he'd ever recover. You can imagine how heartbroken Anna was. Here she was, a young bride-to-be, so full of hopes and dreams and expectations. And suddenly, there wasn't going to be a groom waiting for her at the altar and it was all her fault. She just couldn't stay in Mississippi after that. It was the survivor guilt – everyday she'd wish she'd been taken instead of him. His parents never forgave her for living while their son was left hanging on the edge of death. And she couldn't bear to be round Cody anymore, knowing he'd never wake up, knowing that even though he was still clinging onto life he'd never be able to see her again."

"So she moved to New York," Remy concluded, slowly realizing they shared a lot more in common than he'd first thought.

"Yes." Irene nodded. "To be with the friends who cared for her and would keep an eye on her. She wanted to start afresh, live a new life. Things were difficult for her though. Her career, her relationships… nothing ever worked out. At one point she wanted to give in and come back here…" Irene half smiled, resting her hands upon her brass-headed cane, "…but I knew she was better off staying in New York. I told her she just had to stick at it. Something good was _destined_ to come her way. The girl deserved nothing less, after all the pain she'd been through. She never believed me though. I don't think she thought anyone could ever make her as happy as Cody did."

Remy's smile was slightly shamefaced though filled with relief. "Kinda makes a guy understand why she was always on de defensive all de time, neh?"

Irene smirked. "She's a stubborn girl. But you have to understand what she's been through."

His face softened as he fingered the edges of the photo, smoothing a thumb across her cheek. "Just wish she'd told me," he stated in a low voice.

"She's proud too, in case you hadn't noticed. She'd be darned before she told an untrustworthy Cajun Casanova her life story, don't you think?"

Remy's mouth twisted humorously. "She said dat 'bout me, huh?"

"Yes." Irene nodded. "She has… a very big soft spot for you, Mr. LeBeau."

"Big enough to make it worth me goin' out dere and askin' her whether we have a chance?" he asked hopefully. Irene shrugged.

"She thinks you don't really want her. I don't know whether the fact that you've chased her all the way down here will change her mind about that, but what I do know is that anything's worth a try." She paused and her face softened. "All I want for that girl is happiness, Mr. LeBeau. I don't know how trustworthy you are with any woman's heart, let alone hers. But you've told me you care about her, and that's more than any man's given her these past few years. Maybe if you tell her so, she'll give you a chance."

Maybe. Maybe it was too soon to ask her to be with him, or maybe it wasn't and she'd give him a chance. Whatever her answer would be, Remy was determined to make a go of it.

He looked down at the photo in his hand, the smiling girl who'd lost so much. She was everything he'd ever wanted and he was willing to give back every little thing she'd lost if it was in his power.

He stood up.

Remy was going to tell her how he felt, even if it cost him all the heart he had left.

-oOo-

I can't cry.

It's been four years since I arrived in New York, four years since I stopped thinking about this whole sorry affair and now that it's all been rushing back at me, I still can't cry. Even standing here, right in front of Cody's grave.

For once I'm alone and it's just him and me. All the way through the service, I'd stood on the sidelines, feeling uncertain and unwelcome by his loved ones. Now, with the mourners dispersed, I've finally got time to say goodbye properly. Only I don't know what to say. I don't even know if I can let go, if it's too soon. I've been standing here ten minutes already, wondering why the tears aren't coming. I feel as if I don't have any tears _left_ to cry.

A breeze gets up and I tug my coat closer about me, wishing more than anything to have someone's arms round me, a little bit of warmth from the coldness I feel inside.

"Rogue?"

At the unexpected yet familiar voice I start and swing round, shocked. He's standing only a few feet away, looking as gorgeous as he always does. Remy LeBeau. My heart does a leapfrog. Seeing him again, for the first time since _that night_, gives me a tingling feeling of both dread and delight.

"What're _you_ doin' here!" I exclaim, unable to hide my surprise.

"What does it look like?" he asks. He takes a step towards me and I quickly lower my head.

"Yah shouldn'ta followed me, Cajun," I mutter.

"Why?" he asks. "In case y' didn't know, y' kinda had me wonderin' why y' left me high an' dry without sayin' goodbye."

"_What_!" I turn to him again angrily. "That's rich, comin' from you! Ah spend one night with a man who's had just about every girl in town, an' then he expects me t' leave him an explanation as t' why Ah left! Y' sure have got some nerve, Remy LeBeau!"

"Okay, okay," he concedes bitterly, running a hand through his hair. "So maybe I deserved t' be treated like dat, but…"

"It ain't what yah deserve, Cajun, it's what yah expect!" I yell at him. "It's what yah expect from every sad little 'relationship' yah've ever had! Why am Ah any different! Why do Ah haveta explain myself to yah!"

I turn my back on him again, my gaze falling onto to Cody's tombstone. Tears finally smart my eyes. Why can't he leave me alone? I don't want to be reminded of what we shared. I don't want to face that feeling inside of me, the feeling I get when I see him, when I know I should be mourning Cody's loss.

"I heard about Cody," he says at last with uncharacteristic softness. "I know how you must be feelin', and I didn't want t' intrude on your grief. An' I know you probably don't want t' see me anymore after what happened b'tween us but I just had to let you know dat…"

He pauses and I can't help but fill in for him: "That you finally won? That you finally succeeded in gettin' me into yah bed? That Ah was the best fuck you ever had?"

"You really t'ink I'd come all de way down here just t' say dat to you?" he asks sadly. I can't answer. I'm too scared. "Truth is, chere," he continues, "I didn't know it 'till de other night, but… I really care for you. T'ink I always did, I just didn't know it. You special, Rogue. Dere ain't no other femme like you."

"And how many gals have yah said the exact same thing to, huh?" I ask coldly, never taking my eyes away from Cody's grave.

"I ain't gonna lie, Rogue. I said it to a lot o' girls. But wit' you, I mean it."

I don't believe him. I _can't_ believe him.

"Rogue, I know you been hurt. Believe me, I know." His tone drops and I'm surprised to hear real pain in his voice. "I once had someone I cared 'bout too. _Really_ cared about, like you cared 'bout Cody. Her name was Belle – we'd been in-love since we was pups. We were gon' get married too. Thought it was gon' last forever, dat dere'd never be a femme as special as her. But she decided she didn't feel de same way 'bout me. She called de whole t'ing off, told me she'd found someone else. For a long time, I didn't want t' b'lieve it was over either." He pauses, but I still can't bring myself to look at him. My eyes are burning as I look down at Cody's grave. _He's never told anyone this before, Ah know he hasn't…He's been hurt as much as Ah have, maybe more… Cody never rejected meh… At least Ah know he died lovin' meh… But him and Belle…_ "I guess I figured dat if I couldn't care for anyone after Belle, I wouldn't even bother tryin'," he says, shamefaced. "I was an idiot. I slept wit' any girl I could, jus' cos it was easy. I tried t' kid myself into thinkin' it felt better because it didn't haveta be anyt'ing deep. But den you come along an' change all dat."

Why is he doing this? I can't understand. To lay himself bare like that… He must mean it, he _must_…

I turn to him, my eyes moist.

"Just one night, one crazy night an' you think yah _care_ about me, Cajun? Just like yah 'cared' 'bout all those other gals?"

He's closer now, so close that if I didn't have an ounce of sense in me I'd've thrown my arms around him and kissed him…

"You want me t' say it?" he asks in sudden frustration. "Okay den, I'll say it. I _love_ you Rogue. I love your eyes. I love your smile. I love your laugh an' dat stupid skunk stripe in your hair. I even love de way you sass an' insult me. Dere, I said it. Goddammit, Rogue, what more d'you want from me?"

He'd said it. He'd said _those words_. A part of me can't believe it. All that time waiting to hear those words again… All the loneliness and the heartbreak and the self-doubt… And he feels the same way about me, the way _Cody_ felt about me…

It's too good to be true. All the times he'd harassed me, insulted me, stared at me like I was nothing more than a piece of meat… Could it really have been a cover for love? I can't believe it. It can't be possible. _And yet he came all the way down here just t' see meh, just t' tell me all this… He can't be lyin'… An' if he ain't lyin'…_

I shake my head fiercely. _No, this is wrong, this is all wrong…_

"This ain't right," I announce half to myself.

"Ain't right?" He's so close now and his hand clutches my arm, trying to pull me round to face him. "Rogue, how can dis not be right if I…"

"Because it ain't!" I shout, whirling round and wrenching my arm from his grasp. He steps back, wounded, and I try not to feel sorry for him, I _can't_… The tears are finally falling now, thick and fast.

"Look at yah! Comin' all the way down here and declarin' yah so-called undyin' love for meh in a cemetery, in front of the grave of mah fiancé, the man Ah was meant t' marry! Ah've just been to his funeral, goddammit! _Cody_ was the only man who ever loved meh, _Cody _was the man Ah was supposed to spend the rest of mah life with! How dare yah come here and treat his mem'ry with disrespect! How insensitive can yah be, expectin' me t' make a decision t' be with you when Ah'm here mournin' for his loss!"

"Rogue, dat ain't what I meant," he tries to defend himself, and it must be the first time I've heard him sounding truly desperate but I refuse to hear any more.

"Yah don't know what love is!" I retort heartlessly, unable to help myself. "Yah don't know what it's like t' love meh! What me an' Cody had was love. It was knowin' his favorite cereal, his favorite book, his favorite team, what made him smile and what made him tick. And he knew Ah take my coffee with one sugah. He knew Ah can play the blues, that Ah love horses and that stupid swing down by the river 'cos…'cos it was the place we shared our first kiss." I blink, an unruly tear clinging stubbornly to an eyelash before slipping and plummeting down to the ground. I take in a breath, barely able to say anymore. "_That_ was love, Remy," I half whisper. "And what we have ain't love."

He's quiet, and I can feel how much he wants to put his arms round me, and I want him to, I want him to prove me wrong…

"You're right," he finally replies, softly, slowly. "I don't know dat kind of love. I've never had it. And it's true I don't even know a t'ing about you." He stops, raises his eyes to me. "But I wan' you t' teach me, Anna. I wan' you t' teach me what it takes t' be your man." He steps in close beside me and the next moment his finger hooks my chin, turning me to face him, to gaze into those beautiful eyes of his, and I can't say no. "Maybe dis ain't love an' I'm just goin' crazy, but I don't know what else to call it. I can't get you out of my head, you're dere every step I take, every corner I turn. I just want t' make you happy, Anna. Tell me dat ain't love."

I stare into those calm crimson eyes, their truth, their sincerity… and suddenly I believe what he's saying. I want him to wrap his arms around me and hold me. I want him to love me. But I just can't…

I turn my head away, breaking his touch. "Ah'm just your fantasy, Remy," I reply, sadly, firmly. "The only one who ever accepted and loved me for all that Ah am is lying six feet beneath yah. Don't give me this bullshit about wanting to make me happy… yah can't. You're not him."

"I know," he answers. "I ain't Cody. Maybe I'll _never_ measure up t' him… But I just had to tell you how I felt… B'cause dat night _meant_ somet'ing, Anna. It wasn't just a one night stand… it was somet'ing more, it made me _want _somet'ing more –"

"Yah don't get it, do you?" I hiss through my teeth, suddenly frustrated. "Yah come here an' talk about that one dirty night as if it's evidence that there's somethin' more b'tween us. And you even do it in front of mah fiancé's grave! Well if that's the way you want t' play it then fine! You wanna know the truth, Cajun! The truth is, Ah _wanted_ t' sleep with yah! Ah wanted t' do it, because Ah was sad an' pathetic an' lonely, an' Ah figured Ah'd never meet a decent guy again who'd comfort me an' love me for who Ah _am_ an' not b'cause of what Ah look like! And there yah were, an' yah would've taken me even if Ah was some cheap hooker offa the streets, an' Ah knew you didn't love me and that Ah didn't love you, but Ah _still_ wanted it b'cause no one else would have meh!"

I stop, and every word I say cuts me to the core but I just can't stop, I'm so furious, with Cody, with Remy, with myself. He just stares at me, dumbfounded. I look at his face and I know I've finally done it – I've hurt him. For the first time, I've really, truly wounded him.

"Don't yah get it!" I yell when he doesn't leave. "It was me! _Ah_ was the one who took advantage of _you_!"

He flounders, finally finding his voice. "Is dat how it truly was for you, Anna?" he questions, totally deflated. "Just some crazy fling?"

I turn back to the grave, swallowing hard. I can't bring myself to deny my true feelings anymore. I know I can't say yes. So I say nothing.

"Rogue?" he asks again.

"Leave me alone!" I reply vehemently. _Leave me alone to be with the man Ah was supposed to be with, the only man who ever treated me right. How can Ah ever trust yah to be faithful t' me like Cody was? How can Ah ever believe you love me after the way you've treated meh all this time?_ Out of the corner of my eye, I see him finally back away.

"All right, Anna," he says softly, defeated. "You win. I'm goin'. I just hope y' find a man who measures up t' Cody. Good luck findin' him, chere. You deserve him, more den I deserve you."

He leaves. My heart sinks. I can't bear to see him walk away from me. I'm left alone, back to my thoughts, to my prayers, to my grief. A part of me resents him for intruding into my space, the last space I'd ever reserved for Cody. Another part longs to accept everything he just offered to me. But I can't help feeling this way. I can't help feeling that I was the one who survived Cody, that I have to spend every last day of my life honoring the fact that he died and I lived so I could carry on his memory.

The tears begin to fall again as I gaze down at his grave.

_Help me, Cody. Help me know what to do._

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	21. Make or Break

**Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Marvel. We do not and have never pretended to own these characters (except in our twisted fantasies XD).

-xOx-**

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(21) Make or Break**

I wake up Friday morning still feeling like I'm in a surreal dream. The air smells different, and the feel of the bedclothes against my bare skin is strange and alien. I slowly open my eyes. I'm back in my childhood bedroom, amongst quaint, antique mahogany furniture, ancient photos, teenage romance books and that wooden mobile in the far corner that Cody once gave me. I'm back home, a place that's familiar and yet somehow foreign.

I rub my eyes with the back of my hand before sliding out of bed and pulling back the curtains, the curtains of the window where I'd sat so often waiting for Cody to come back from football practice. Outside there's none of the hustle and bustle of the Big Apple. The sky is overcast, the sun is peeking through the clouds and the birds are singing. There isn't the sound of a single car in the distance. I'm still in Caldecott and it feels like I've woken up on a day four years ago, back inside my previous life. It feels like I could pretend I'd never left this place at all, that I never went to New York and met a man named Remy LeBeau.

The pretence would've worked if I could stop thinking about him.

He'd be back at work by now, back at L&L, lonely and empty-handed, wondering what went wrong. He's probably thinking about me right now, like I'm thinking about him. I open the window, breathe in the fresh air and sigh. I'm tired of thinking about him. All these many miles between us and I still can't get a word he said out of my head. It's killing me. How can I go back to New York and face him when I can't even face the memory of him here?

I shower and dress and as I do so my eye catches on the small, thin scar just over my left breast, a souvenir, a horrible reminder of the accident that had ended Cody's life. I run a finger over it slowly, remembering. Every time I'd begun a new relationship I'd get asked about this scar, but I'd never been able to tell the truth. If I had it would've only kept Cody's ghost closer. Of all the men I'd dated after him, Joe was the only one I'd ever slept with and it hadn't felt right. But being with Remy…_ that _had felt right and I can't explain it.

He'd put his lips right here on my scar and kissed it… but he'd never asked where I'd gotten it, not once. And even if he had, could I have told _him_ the truth?

I close my eyes and try not to think about it.

It takes me ages to dress and I finally stroll downstairs twenty minutes later. Irene's in the dining room, sipping her tea, waiting for me. I'd spent the entirety of yesterday in bed, unwilling to speak. Irene knows my moods and had left me to my own devices. She knows that by today I'll be ready to talk.

I go up to her and kiss her on the forehead. She smiles and indicates towards the coffee machine and the plate of beignets lying beside it. I put my arms round her shoulders and hug her before getting my breakfast and sitting down next to her.

"Feeling better?" she asks softly, once I'm settled.

"A little," I reply. And I do. I feel a little better to be sitting here with her, eating my favorite breakfast, not needing to say anything, just like it used to be in the old days. For the first time in days I manage to smile. Irene feels the smile and nods before quietly reaching inside a pocket. She brings out a passport-sized photograph and slides it across the table towards me. I look at it. Me and Cody – my favorite picture of the two of us. I'd always kept it in my purse, safe from the elements; but now it's worn and dog-eared. I stare at it in confusion.

"How – ?"

"He left it for you," Irene interrupts, before I can finish the question. "He said he didn't want to steal anymore good memories from you."

I realize who she's referring to, and I can't help the tears from welling in my eyes.

_Remy_…

I'd been looking at that picture the night that Cody had died, right there in his lounge. I must've dropped it there when I'd hurried to put it back in my purse, left it there for him to find when he'd woken up the morning after. I can't imagine what he must've felt when he first saw it. My heart fills with dread and guilt. All that time down at the cemetery he'd known. He'd known about me and Cody. He'd chased me all the way to Mississippi still knowing that he had the slimmest of chances. Despite everything he hadn't given up on me.

I touch the edge of the photo, thinking of how many times he must've held it and looked at it and wondered if I was worth the effort. My heart aches. _How he must hate meh…_

"Do you still think it was the right thing?" Irene asks, following my train of thought. "Turning him down?"

I swallow and shake my head. "Irenie, Ah can't… It's too soon…"

"Too soon to love again?" Her voice is gentle yet firm. "Do you really think our hearts take trivial things like time into account?"

"Remy LeBeau's not the man for me," I half whisper. I can't do this to myself. I just can't get myself hung up on him again…

"Do you love him?" she asks seriously. I say nothing. I stare down at the photo again, close my hand over it. I try to imagine Remy with his arms round me instead of Cody, Remy taking Cody's place as the only man in my life. Remy, the insufferable ladies' man who treats women like dirt. Who'd treated _me_ like dirt; and yet who'd treated me so wonderfully despite everything. I raise my head.

"Ah'm so confused, momma," I admit plaintively. "Mah heart keeps tellin' me Ah love him, but at the same time Ah just know it couldn't last b'tween us. Ah…Ah don't know if Ah could ever trust him."

"Maybe that's all he needs," Irene says, taking my free hand in hers. "A little trust."

My teeth pull on my bottom lip as I mull over her words. "Ah don't know if Ah can trust _anyone_ anymore," I whisper. "It hurts so much to have all your dreams shattered… Ah just couldn't face that kind of disappointment again." I pause, my eyes filling again involuntarily. "Momma… Ah'm so scared…"

This time I can't stop the tears from falling and she takes me in her arms and I huddle close to her, feeling just like a child again. She rocks me and says gently: "Anna, there's no need to be scared. You're not in this alone. He needs to learn to trust again just as much as you do. Give each other time and maybe you can open your hearts to one another again."

Maybe. Maybe we can. I want to, so badly. I don't want to be scared of love anymore. Over Irene's shoulder I stare at the photo on the table. Remy's left it to me, given me something to hold onto. The ball's in my court now.

All I need to do is find the courage to embrace my future and start afresh once more. The problem is just finding that courage.

-oOo-

Meanwhile, several hundred miles up north, Emma Frost was wrapped up in her own dilemma. She'd been mixing and matching outfits for the better part of a morning, and after much careful deliberation she'd finally settled on a daringly sheer silk blouse and a classy gray pencil skirt. It was an outfit Betsy had forced her to buy the other day, insisting that pencil skirts were now in. Emma had bought it just to shut Betsy up – she hadn't worn_ anything _below knee length since her school uniform. But now she wanted to look halfway decent when Bobby arrived, not like some cheap tramp. Looking in the mirror, she had to admit that although this was a look she would've thought boring and frumpy before, she actually looked good. Subtly sexy. Coy and flirty instead of her usual no-mercy, heavy artillery sex-bomb look.

Emma stared at herself and smiled a soft smile.

Just at that moment the doorbell went and she started to attention, running out her bedroom and down the stairs without a second thought, only to find that Kristin had already beaten her to it.

"No, no!" Emma cried, horrified that the grand entrance she'd been planning the past two days should be spoiled. "I'll answer the door, don't you _dare_ get it!"

She practically barged past the poor maid and snatched the door handle as if she was a child and someone had threatened to take a toy away from her. Since Emma always kicked up a fuss if she had to make so much of a step towards the doorway, Kristin was rather baffled, but she didn't dare complain so she shrugged peevishly and walked away. It took Emma half a minute to regain her composure and finally throw the door open.

And just as she'd known, just as she'd hoped, there was Bobby, looking every bit as apprehensive as she was. A relieved breath escaped from her lips. She thought he would've been angry and defensive, but from the looks of it, he was probably feeling exactly the same as her.

Yes - for the first time in her life, Emma felt nervous. And it _wasn't_ a nice feeling.

"Bobby." She stood aside, held the door open for him. "Please, come in."

_Shit!_ Her nervousness was making her sound like some prim and proper matron! Emma heaved in another shaky breath and tried to loosen up. Bobby, however, didn't appear to notice. He stepped into the hall and looked about apprehensively.

"Is this going to take long?" he asked quickly, his hands literally jammed in his pockets.

"I hope not," she remarked, closing the door shut and turning to him. "I…I want to thank you, Bobby. For taking the time to come. I know you're busy."

He looked at the floor and shrugged, embarrassed. "Actually, I wasn't busy at all," he admitted.

"Oh." She wasn't sure what to make of that. "I'm glad."

He was wearing uncharacteristically casual-smart slacks and a simple white shirt that flattered his well-toned body to perfection. Emma wished he wouldn't stand so self-consciously. He could look super sleek and sexy if only he believed he was worth it. He hadn't even been in her hallway a minute and she was already itching to get her hands on him.

"Been anywhere special?" she asked as casually as she could.

"Me? Nope." He looked down at his clothes and pulled on his shirt. "Just went for a job interview this morning. Had to look, you know, respectable."

"A job interview?" she asked, her heart falling. That pretty much meant that he had no intention of working for her anymore. "For what?" she inquired weakly.

"As a part-time accountant at the local bank," he answered. She must've looked upset because he began shifting uncomfortably. "Look, Emma… if there's something you want to say to me, can you please say it? You're giving me the heebie-jeebies here."

Emma shook herself. _Well, what do you expect, of course he doesn't want to work for you anymore, just do what you set out to do and apologize to him!_

"Let's go into the lounge," she breathed.

He followed her a little reluctantly in the living room, while she ran about ten different potential dialogues between them in her head. _Damn._ She'd been rehearsing this whole stupid scenario about a dozen times an hour, and now that he was finally here she hadn't a clue what she really wanted to say. _Well, you _do_ know one thing you need to say. Sorry, right? So go ahead and say it, Emma, before you regain control of your goddamn senses!_

She stopped in the center of the room and swung round to him, unconsciously wringing her hands as the words finally bubbled involuntarily to her mouth.

"Bobby…" she began, "I'm sorry. I'm _really_ sorry."

_Okay. You said it. That wasn't so bad, was it?_

Bobby screwed up his mouth in disbelief. "Oh right," he began sarcastically. "So is that 'sorry for using you as my love slave', or 'sorry for insulting you the other day'?"

Oh, so he _did_ want to play rough. Emma had to physically resist the urge to start shouting and give back as good as she got.

"For _all_ of it," she replied on a pent-up breath. "In fact… for the way I treated you since day one." One look at his skeptical face was enough to tell her that at _lot_ more self-debasement was needed. _Dammit!_ But there was nothing for it but to grit her teeth and soldier on. "Alright, alright already! I'll admit it." She took a huge breath, continued: "I led you on. I led you on just like I did all those other men before. I treated you abominably and I did it all on purpose."

He crossed his arms and frowned, looking dubious and yet even more delicious to her than ever. Emma got the distinct feeling that he was beating her at her own game, and she didn't like it one little bit. _No way is he playing hard to get now!_

"C'mon, tell me something I don't know, Ms. Frost," he remarked acidly. "Like _why_ exactly you felt the need to trample on someone who's obviously so beneath you in the first place."

Emma bit her lip. Hard. He really _was_ going to make this hard on her. The thing was, she deserved it. And she really couldn't bear the scorn on his face much longer. It was killing her.

"I _never _thought that, Bobby," she assured him, desperation taking over her pride once more. "Okay, well maybe I did for the first couple of days or so…" He looked like he was about to walk out right there and then, but she continued in a rush before he could do so; "But after that… after that I just couldn't think that of you. The way you looked out for me… took care of me… even went out of your way to give me advice _knowing_ what a bitch I was! After what happened with Carlos, you could've found it so easy to look down on me. That's what any guy would've done. And you _didn't_. You were still so kind and considerate and -"

"A pushover?" he finished off pointedly. Emma shook her head vigorously.

"Believe it or not, Bobby, you had me wondering why on _earth_ anyone like you would even bother to give me the time of day." She paused and flushed. "No man's ever done that for me, Bobby," she admitted, shamefaced. "Most men think all I'm out for is a good time, that a free drink and a good fuck are the only qualities I look for in a man. But I'm not like that Bobby. Really, I'm not. Every time I end up with those kind of men, it kills me inside. The truth is…I don't know a thing about real relationships, about what it's really like to _love_ someone. But I really _want_ to know. I really _want_ someone to care for me. And when you were with me, Bobby…I really felt like you cared for me. And I know it's really pathetic but…_no_ man's really cared for me before. Not _ever_."

She inhaled deeply, unable to go on, the sad admission finally giving her the strength to look into his eyes, even if she saw nothing there but contempt. But to her surprise his handsome, boyish face wore instead a frown of sympathy and concern.

"Emma," he began somberly, shaking his head, "I just don't get it. I just don't get why you've _let _yourself be treated like dirt all these years. I mean, look at you. So many women would kill to have what you have. And yeah… you may be a bitch sometimes, but that doesn't mean you're not smart and talented and beautiful. There'd be a thousand decent men out there who'd queue around the block just to get a date with you. You're worth more than all the Carlos' in the world. Why don't you just _believe_ that for once?"

"I guess…I guess I haven't really known anything else," she returned quietly, truly humbled by his words.

"Well… now you _do_ know," he shrugged matter-of-factly. "From now on, stop dating bad boys. Get yourself a real man who'll treat you decent. I'm sure there are plenty out there waiting for you."

At his words Emma began to panic. This was _not_ the direction she wanted this to go!

"No!" she cried breathlessly, inching closer to him. "Bobby, don't you get it! I don't want any of those men! The guy I want is _you_!"

She gazed at him through beseeching blue eyes, trying to communicate that _that_ was what she wanted, and she wouldn't - couldn't - settle for anything less. Skepticism crossed his face again and she couldn't help but ask pleadingly: "Bobby, after everything I've said, don't you believe me?"

"It's not that," he muttered, averting his gaze and running his hand through his hair, "it's just… Well, how can I believe that you'd really want someone like _me_?"

She stared at him, confused, and he continued: "Emma, look at me. You're just way outta my league. I dress crazy and talk outta my butt and I can't even score unless I'm drunk. I'm addicted to Shogun Total Wars and I collect Batman comics. I'm a nerd. A loser. A geek. Just wait and see, you'll go out with me a couple of times and end up hating me. And call me sad and pathetic, but… I just don't think I could take you hating me, Emma, I really don't think I could."

At the words, at finally hearing the longed for and dreaded admission, something strange and unfamiliar filled Emma's heart so that she felt giddy and could barely stand straight. A smile played across her lips and for the first time she could put an emotion to the word. Happy. She felt _happy_.

"And what if I told you I don't care," she told him with a newfound certainty, fresh hope suddenly coursing through her. "What if I told you that despite everything I find you irresistibly attractive, and gorgeous and sexy - even when you're wearing those hideous Hawaiian shirts? What if I told you that I think all those girls that ever turned you down are crazy, because you're the most sensitive, caring guy out there, and I don't even remotely deserve you? Would you still think I could _ever_ end up hating you?"

Bobby looked up at her, searching her face for any trace of deception. But for once he found nothing in her eyes but total honesty - as well as something more, something he never thought he'd find in her. And suddenly he knew she wasn't lying.

"I'd think you were insane," he replied, a slight grin forming on his lips, the playfulness slowly returning to his voice. "But I guess I wouldn't blame you for thinking I was the greatest creature alive."

At his words Emma couldn't help but beam with relief.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" she asked in trepidation. Bobby shrugged and ran a hand though his hair and said: "What the hell… Yes, you're forgiven."

With a delighted schoolgirl squeal, Emma practically launched herself into his arms, her lips finding his in an impassioned kiss. Bobby was so stunned at her unexpected move that he was bowled over back onto the couch with her on top of him, her lips still firmly locked with his own. The last thing he wanted to do was disentangle her from his grasp, but at the same time he was worried that his blonde bombshell had finally snapped and gone insane. After all, overt displays of affection were the _last_ thing he'd ever have expected of her.

"Uh…Ms. Frost?" he began, twisting his face away from hers and finally coming up for air. "Maybe we should take this one step at a time…?"

Emma pulled back, only slightly, looking down into his beautiful blue eyes and wondering why she'd ever wanted to push him away.

"Shut up and kiss me, Drake," she purred sexily, taking his hand and cupping it coyly over her butt. "And would you _stop_ calling me 'Ms. Frost'?"

"Can't help it if you make me feel like a naughty schoolboy," he murmured, playing along. She gave a chuckle, that same throaty, sexy chuckle that already drove him wild, as she brushed her lips seductively over his own.

"Robert Drake, you do _not_ want to know what I do to naughty schoolboys," she assured him sexily, before finally recapturing his mouth in another long-awaited and passionate kiss.

-xXx-

Over the horizon the lights of the city sparkled like jewels under the pearly eye of the moon, whose reflection wavered and glittered in the waters of the East River. It was certainly a view to behold. In the cool night air Betsy drew her stole a little closer around her and said over her nearly-finished dessert: "You know… I've never had dinner on a Victorian steam boat before."

Across the table, Warren grinned.

"Then you haven't lived, Betsy."

"Oh, and let me guess. You're going to make sure I live all those moments I haven't got to experience yet, right?" she retorted wryly.

"Got it in one," he replied, sipping from his wineglass, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Well, I suppose I should warn you of something first," she stated with mock severity.

"Oh? And what's that?"

She leant over, smirking audaciously at him. "I have _very_ expensive tastes."

He laughed his usual easy, open laugh. "It's lucky I just happen to be a millionaire then, isn't it." He leaned forward too, taking her hands in his and holding them with a gentle touch.

"Truthfully, I don't give a damn about your money," Betsy replied lightly. "Even if you were a hobo on the streets I'd still think you were wonderful."

Warren cocked an eyebrow humorously. "Hmmm. Judging by my previous experiences with hobos and their taste in thermal underwear, I seriously doubt that statement, Betsy. But I thank you for the compliment."

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "You've had experience with hobos and their _underwear_?"

"Don't even ask." Warren rolled his eyes dramatically. "It's a _long_ story."

"I'm not sure I _want_ to know," Betsy returned comically, and the two couldn't help but laugh.

For the new couple it had been a picture perfect night so far - a three course meal in a swanky restaurant set in an old-fashioned yet plush steam boat, whose guests comprised the crème-de-la-crème of New York's aristocracy; an idyllic night-time view of the city; and a six-piece jazz band playing romantic classics in the background. Frankly Betsy would've settled for much less, but Warren had insisted on splashing out for their first date. And he couldn't have made a more handsome dining partner. In a dapper charcoal gray suit and a neat bow tie, he looked every inch the elegant and sophisticated bachelor that she knew him to be. In order to match his impeccable dress sense, Betsy had chosen to wear the color she knew suited her best - purple. Her daring gown consisted of violet chiffon that skimmed her curves to perfection, and while it was seemingly demure from the front, at the back it sported a scoop that dipped so low it could almost have been considered indecent. It was, however, a look that the ex-model could've pulled off in her sleep. As soon as they'd entered the restaurant together, everyone had looked round to stare at this beautiful and well-groomed couple. For Betsy it had felt like she was on the catwalk again, and she unconsciously reveled in the attention everyone was giving her.

But that hadn't been half as good as seeing the look on Warren's face as he'd first clapped eyes on her.

Now they were sitting eating dessert with the entire deck to themselves, oblivious to everything but one another. To Betsy, it was like a scene out of a cheesy chick-flick starring Meg Ryan - except for once she was the star, and it didn't seem half as cheesy as it did on celluloid (although she was sure that Emma would've begged to differ). As it was, Betsy was far too happy to protest.

"So," Warren asked softly, holding her delicate, well-manicured fingers between his own and toying with them gently, "did you get a chance to read the contracts? What did you think?"

"Well," Betsy answered, smiling coyly, "after reading everything through thoroughly, I think I simply have no choice but to take you up on your offer."

His grip tightened as he gave her hands a light squeeze. "Betsy Braddock, you've made this guy a happy man," he murmured.

"Well, we're even then. Because I don't think I've ever felt this happy before in my life, Mr. Worthington."

He gave a lop-sided grin. "And that's all it took? One expensive gesture to make you happy?"

She chuckled. "Believe it or not, it doesn't take much to make me happy. All I ever ask for is a roof over my head, food to eat, a mum-free environment… _and_ a white Christmas." She pouted. "We _never_ get those in England anymore."

"Well," Warren replied with theatrical sigh, "it sure _feels_ like a white Christmas is going to be coming round this year. Feels like a good time for miracles, don't you think?"

"It most certainly does," she murmured in agreement, lazily trailing a foot up and down his calf and staring him in the eye. He returned the look, his gaze becoming more intense.

"So…don't drop-dead-gorgeous men come _anywhere_ on your wishlist?" he asked her in a more husky tone of voice. Betsy grinned wickedly, her foot moving upward to tease lightly at his inner thigh. "Well now that you mention it," she purred just as seductively, "I think I'm going to have to keep a certain blond-haired, blue-eyed New York businessman _permanently_ on my wishlist. Not to mention in other places," she added saucily.

"Oh, and what places might those be?" he inquired boldly, his eyes flashing with desire. She grinned innocently in return.

"Wait and see."

At that moment the band struck up a slow waltz - a waltz that had been playing the night they first met. The cue couldn't have been more perfect.

"Care to dance?" Warren asked, cupping his hands expectantly over hers.

Betsy smiled.

"I'd love to."

The deck made a convenient dance floor. Under the muted pink lights of the boat they danced in time to the music, their bodies pressed close, their swaying reflection captured on the waters below them. Betsy melted into the warmth of his body, resting her head on his broad shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his hand lightly stroking her bare back, of his heartbeat against her breast. She couldn't remember a time she'd felt as safe and secure as this. This was what she truly loved about being with Warren - not only did he make her feel special, but he made her feel that, with him by her side, she could tackle just about anything life threw her way - even her battle-axe of a mother.

"Betsy?"

His voice came to her as a murmur, reluctantly breaking the tranquility of their embrace.

"Mmmm?"

"Does this mean we're going to make a real go of this? Together?"

She shifted her head slightly, looking up into his gorgeous blue eyes.

"What did you think tonight meant?" she asked.

"Well… I figured you might still need some time to get over Neal…" He trailed off.

She thought about it, for the first time reflecting on her feelings honestly. And when she found the answer, she was surprised to find that she didn't feel guilty at all. Because this was _perfect_. This was how it should've been all along.

"No," she returned at last. "I don't. I'm ready _now_."

His gaze was inquisitive. "You sure?"

She nodded.

"On a night as perfect as this, how could I not be sure?"

They stopped dancing. There was nothing more to be said. Gazing into each other's eyes was all the confirmation they needed.

Under the moonlight, caressed by the gentle night-time breeze, the two shared a lingering kiss, each hoping in their hearts that there would be many more to come.

-oOo-

The next day Rogue arrived back in New York very tired and very much alone. At her request, Jean and Betsy had gone to pick her up, even though they'd been expecting her to be arriving with a certain someone else - not to mention spending the rest of the weekend shacked up with said someone else. But disappointingly, when Rogue stepped into arrivals, all she had with her was her suitcase and a serious case of jet lag. Even worse, the miserable look on her face told them that while she'd been in Caldecott, no loving of any description had been going on at all. They were even beginning to think Emma had made up the Remy LeBeau saga just to get attention. It wouldn't have been the first time Emma had created phantom boyfriends after all.

"Where's Emma?" Rogue asked after the greetings and the heartfelt hugs had passed round. She glanced about her as if the brazen New York socialite would pop up out of nowhere. "Ah didn't know she worked weekends."

"Emma now has a 'boyfriend'," Betsy announced, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. "She's spending the day with him doing God knows what! Frankly, I don't _want_ to know."

"Emma has a 'boyfriend'?" Rogue mused as she and Jean heaved her suitcase into the back of the car. "Is that boyfriend as in _boyfriend_, or boyfriend as in friend with privileges?"

"For once Emma has done the unthinkable," Jean remarked, giving the suitcase an extra shove with her butt and finally squeezing it into the car. "She's decided to make a go of a real relationship for a change."

"_What_!" Rogue cried in amazement. "You're kiddin'!"

"Nope." Jean shook her head laughingly. "Aliens must've abducted her and rewired her brain, because right now Ms. Frost has stars in her eyes."

"And that's not the half of it," Betsy added ravenously. "Guess who gave her man the push and started dating a certain Warren Worthington of Worthington Inc?"

If Rogue's eyes could get any wider they probably would've fallen out of her head.

"Betsy!" she squealed. "_You_!" Betsy gave a knowing grin and Rogue literally threw her arms round her. "Ah'm so happy for yah, sugah! Ah _knew_ you liked the guy! Ah can't tell yah how glad Ah am yah'll aren't stickin' round with that Neal Sharra an' feelin' miserable."

"Tell me about it!" Betsy rolled her eyes again theatrically. "But enough about me! What about you, Rogue? Jean and I…well, to tell you the truth we kind of thought you wouldn't be needing our taxi service once you arrived back in NY."

Rogue looked back at her, puzzled. "What d'yah mean?"

"Well," Jean explained, "we were led to believe that you'd be coming back with a certain Cajun…"

Rogue's face noticeably paled.

"_Remy_? You mean you guys knew 'bout Remy?"

Jean and Betsy gave one another a look at Rogue's unexpectedly flustered tone.

"Well, yeah," Jean replied slowly. "Why? Did something happen? We thought…" She trailed off and Betsy hastened to continue: "We thought the two of you were an item."

At the words Rogue gave a forced, humorless laugh.

"Me an' him – an _item_? Whatever the hell gave yah'll that idea?"

"So you_ didn't _see him while you were out there?" Betsy quizzed, confused. Realizing just how much they knew, Rogue had no option but to come clean, even though she looked decidedly uneasy about it.

"Well, yeah… Actually he did come out t' Caldecott. We had a talk… an' Ah decided he wasn't the man for me." She shrugged with false nonchalance. "That's about it."

"You mean he went all the way out there to see you and you turned him away?" Betsy asked, looking a little disappointed, not to mention worried.

"Betsy," Rogue began severely, her eyes stony, "Remy _ain't_ the man for me. He's a womanizin' horndog, and what's worse, he didn't even have the respect to stay away from me while Ah was mournin' Cody's death. Of _course_ Ah turned him away."

Betsy looked like she was about to protest, but Jean shot her a warning glance. It was plain to see that Rogue had been upset and didn't want to talk about it. Naturally, Jean was just as sad as Betsy that things hadn't worked out for Rogue – especially since she knew just how much the Southerner really cared for the wayward Cajun. But there was time to talk about it later.

"Guys, we should _really_ stop standing out here talking about men," she spoke up as humorously as she could. "How about we treat you to some lunch, Rogue? A good meal is always in order after the crap they call plane food."

"Good idea!" Betsy agreed, clapping her hands. "Then I can tell you _all_ about my _delectable_ Mr. Worthington."

"Like I haven't heard it all already," Jean commented jokingly.

"Well, Rogue hasn't heard about it!" Betsy protested. "Come on - how about we go to that new wine bar in Queens?"

"You know what I could really do with, gals?" Rogue spoke up from the sidelines.

"What?" Betsy and Jean asked in unison.

"A big, fat quarter-pounder with extra cheese. Anyone for a Burger King?"

-xXx-

It was the following Monday before Rogue returned.

Remy had been anticipating her arrival like a well-deserved slap in the face. He knew it was going to be torture seeing her once more. He also knew it was going to be equal torture if she never showed up at L&L again. So when she did finally arrive, he didn't know whether to feel relieved or sick to the stomach that she was within arm's reach again – close, but nowhere near enough for him to touch.

He'd been in his office, busy looking out over the typing pool and staring into space, when suddenly he'd found himself gazing straight at her as she'd walked right across the periphery of vision and sat down at her desk as if he wasn't even there. For the next hour she'd poignantly ignored him. It was a crushing blow, compounded by the fact that he hadn't a clue as to how he'd gone wrong with her. He'd laid himself bare to her, even gone the whole darn way and declared his love for her in a fit of desperation. She'd done something to him and made him stupid and rash and he didn't like it.

_Shoulda just kissed her… Ain't no way she woulda been able to resist me den…_ _Yeah, right. If I'd'a kissed her, she woulda just slapped me one again._

Remy gave a long sigh and frowned.

He should've known this was going to happen. Ever since he'd decided to go chasing after her, he'd accepted the likelihood of being rebuffed. But now it was different. Now there was nothing to stand in their way but a dead man's memory. Okay, so maybe he'd come on a bit strong when she was still only fresh on the heels of her grief. And sure, he'd said he loved her out of pure frustration, but now, gazing at her for the first time in days, he realized he hadn't been lying. He didn't know a lot about love, but what little he knew he was feeling for her right now – only to have it thrown right back in his face. It just wasn't fair.

_Damn, dat girl drives a hard bargain…_

She was still sitting there, ignoring him. Still, he figured things couldn't be so bad after all. Just looking at the cute upturn of her nose and those kissable cherry-red lips was something he reckoned he could live with - even if it reduced him to an entirely wretched and celibate state.

Unfortunately his reverie was cruelly interrupted when Jean-Paul suddenly barged into his office and pointedly drew the vertical blinds so that she couldn't distract him any longer.

"Anna's back," the silver-haired man noted bluntly and without greeting.

"I know," Remy replied sarcastically. "She's been sittin' right outside my office de past hour."

"She was gone for 5 whole freakin' work days!" Jean-Paul continued irately, ignoring Remy's sarcastic comment. "She didn't even phone me to say she was comin' back! For all I knew, she could've quit!"

"So whaddya want me to do about it?" Remy asked belligerently, slouching back in his seat and trying to look bored.

"I want you to come clean with me, Remy LeBeau!" JP pointed an accusing finger at him. "Monet told me it was Mississippi you'd disappeared to last week, and I was quite happy to accommodate you at the time. But don't think I'm idiot enough not to have figured out the connection with our chere Anna! Come on Remy, I want the truth and I want it now!"

"You mean you want something to gossip about wit' your 'girlfriends'," Remy retorted sourly.

"Remy, for once I'm being entirely serious here. Shall I call her in here and ask her myself?" Jean-Paul turned towards the door and had actually opened it halfway when Remy leapt out of his seat and slammed the door shut again before he could call out Anna's name.

"You ain't talkin' to her about _nothin'_, JP!" he hissed, his eyes blazing. Seeing how pissed off Remy really was, Jean-Paul reluctantly relented.

"Just _what_ is going on between you two?" he asked, placing his hands humorously on his hips like a cross mother. "I was right, wasn't I? You propositioned her and she hates you even more than she did before. Or are you two having some sort of torrid love affair? This really is more than I can bear! Come on, I want out with it!"

Remy stalled a moment, not wanting to tell his boss the truth. For one thing it hurt his pride too much just to think about it. For another thing, he just _knew_ JP wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut if he _did_ tell him. So he laughed and shook his head and said: "Look, JP…dis is all just a misunderstanding. Rogue – Anna – was in trouble, dat's why she had to go down to Mississippi. Her fiancé… he passed away and she was really upset…she couldn't t'ink straight…I went down dere to, y'know…make sure she was okay…"

JP raised a skeptical eyebrow. "If she was in such trouble why didn't you let me know beforehand?"

"Well, she wanted to keep it private," Remy explained desperately, "I was jus' coverin' for her…"

"And why would you do that?" JP asked him with narrowed eyes.

"I…uh…"

"Remy," JP said in a tone that suggested dire consequences if the truth was not told. "What have the two of you been up to?"

"Nothin'!"

"Liar! You're tryin' to tell me you'd go and 'help out' every bereaved girl in this company by traveling all the way down to Mississippi if the situation required it?"

By now Remy was extremely tongue-tied and knew he couldn't say anything more without sounding pathetic. So he gave up and said: "Alright, alright! I went down dere b'cause I needed t' talk wit' her. And I don't wanna say no more b'cause it's _our_ business. Please don't ask me anymore, JP. I don't care about myself, I jus' don't want anyone else round here spreadin' rumors about_ her_, d'accord?"

At the admission Jean-Paul's expression changed. For once it was serious as he realized that for the first time in years, his friend and protege actually _cared _about someone.

"Remy," he finally began in a reasonable tone, patting his friend on the shoulder, "there are _already_ rumors flying round about the two of you – Monet's doing,_ not_ mine. And you misunderstand me entirely. You're a good friend, mon frere. I'd never spread any rumors about you and yours. I'm just concerned that whatever's going on between the two of you doesn't get in the way of both your work here at L&L. Understand?"

"Oui," Remy replied morosely.

"Bon," JP nodded. "Now I guess I should go and have a word with her about her absence. Don't worry," he assured his friend with a smile. "I won't be harsh."

"T'anks, JP," Remy answered, relieved.

Jean-Paul was just about to leave when there was a rap at the door. At the unexpected knock the two men gave one another a quick look before Remy called out: "come in."

The door opened and to their surprise in stepped Rogue. When she saw Jean-Paul she started, a look of dread crossing her face.

"Oh… Mr. Beaubier, suh… Ah didn't know yah were here…"

Jean-Paul gave Remy a short, meaningful look, then smiled slightly at her and replied: "It's all right, Anna. I was just leaving. But if you would come to my office when you're available, please? I'd like to have a private word with you."

Rogue hung her head, shamefaced as she realized he was talking about her impromptu week off.

"Yes, suh," she replied, crestfallen.

"Good." Jean-Paul went to the door, nodding once at Remy before slipping out.

A thick silence enveloped the two as Rogue nervously averted her gaze from his own. But her presence was enough to give Remy some hope that maybe some reconciliation was possible between them. At last he cleared his throat and said: "Rogue –"

"Ah came to give yah these," she interrupted before he could say anything more. She held out a sheaf of papers. "Kitty said she had work t'do, so Ah offered to give 'em to yah. Sorry Ah can't make a report on the updates."

"S'okay," he replied, his heart inwardly falling as he realized she hadn't come to talk things over after all. "Wasn't your fault you weren't here last week after all, neh? Just as long as you get one of de others t'bring you up-to-date, d'accord?"

"D'accord," she replied without even thinking. He glanced at her as he reached out for the papers, an eyebrow raised.

"What?" she asked.

"Not'ing." He smiled despite himself. "Y'just have a good accent, dat's all. Maybe you should t'ink about learnin' sometime."

Her eyes softened.

"Maybe…"

He took the papers, his fingers accidentally brushing against hers in a feather-light touch that he couldn't bear to break. He thought she would flinch and move away, but to his surprise she didn't, letting her hand linger a second too long, a second long enough for his hopes to be raised again despite everything.

"Rogue…" he began again, but suddenly her eyes hardened and she dropped her hand, breaking the softness of their touch.

"Will that be all, Mr. LeBeau, suh?"

For a split second he wanted to take her by the shoulders, shake her, tell her that she was crazy and didn't know what she was missing. But suddenly everything she'd said to him back in Caldecott came rushing back at him – the rejection, the humiliation – and he clamped his mouth shut.

"Oui. Dat'll be all," he replied after a moment.

He turned back to his desk, trying to pretend he didn't care, trying to pretend the electricity still didn't exist between them. He knew he couldn't. With that one touch he knew he still wanted her like he'd never wanted any other woman, and that he wasn't likely to stop anytime soon.

There was a long pause before he finally heard her leave, but leave she finally did. Behind him the door opened, then closed softly shut. She was gone.

Remy sighed and slumped back at his desk, resigning himself to another few months of hellish withdrawal symptoms – dreaming of her, wanting her, needing her, and unable to even look her in the eye.

If he'd chanced to look at Rogue before she'd left, he would've seen her glance back over her shoulder with exactly the same glimmer of yearning in her beautiful green eyes.

-oOo-

_To be continued..._


	22. Leap of Faith

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Marvel. We are poor nobodies who are writing this simply for pleasure. Please don't sue us!

**A/N:** Okay, so we didn't quite make **Le Diable Blanc's** deadline, but we hope this is quick enough for y'all. :)

-xOx-

* * *

**Mix 'n' Match**

**(22) Leap of Faith**

I've been back at work for ten days now. Ten days, and I'm feeling miserable. Miserable because I can't stand looking him in the eye anymore, miserable because I can't stand avoiding him anymore. I've swapped desks with Peter, because I can't even stand seeing his silhouette walking round his office anymore. Every movement he makes speaks to me, chides me for being so cruel to him. I suppose I should have been grateful that JP didn't fire me, but I still want to leave. I want to tender my resignation and forget all about him. I can't bring myself to do it. Even if it's torture to know he's so near and yet so far, it's also a comfort, and it'd be torture to deprive myself of him.

He's left me alone, respecting my wishes and keeping his distance. It isn't enough. I want him further away. And I want him nearer than ever before.

It's not like I don't want to talk to him. It's the exact opposite really. I just don't know what to say to him. I don't know what I can say or what needs to be said or… I just don't know anything anymore.

Within four years time, I go from knowing everything to absolutely nothing.

I'm in the photocopy room, wondering just how much more of this I can take. The rhythmic movement of the machine spewing out paper compliments the ebb and flow of my thoughts, a train track with no seeming end or resolution. He told me he loves me. I don't believe he really knows what love is. But I believe he _believes_ he loves me. I believe he'd learn to love me, if he tried. I even believe I'd love him back with all my heart. So why aren't I doing anything about it?

Whether by fault or design, my daydreams have caused me to let my guard down. The next moment I find he's standing at the photocopier beside mine, feigning casualness as he slips his papers into the machine and presses the copy button. There's a stiffness to his movements that tells me he's feeling as awkward as I am. And to think I thought nothing would ever bring the man down!

I lean over the machine and concentrate on reading the fire emergency rules, hoping to narrow the risk of having to look at him. We say nothing for a good minute or so. I can't resist taking a peek at him. Looks like he couldn't resist either. Our gazes meet and we don't have any time to pull away.

"Hi," he says, too soft for the word to be neutral.

"Hi," I say weakly, my heart pounding. I turn away again, my cheeks reddening as I feel his gaze still on me, running over every curve with such intensity it makes my knees want to buckle with the memory of what he can do to me… His copies are finally finished and he picks them up, he goes to the door, stops, turns.

"Anna –" he begins, only to falter since he hasn't a clue what to say, or even what he _wants_ to say.

"Mr. LeBeau?" I ask, still not looking at him. He clears his throat.

"Could you join me in my office, please? When you're done, I mean."

"Ah'm busy, Mr. LeBeau. Is this important because Ah have a report to make as yah know and…" I make my excuses but am quickly cut off.

"Bring your report. We'll be needin' it. I'll see y' in my office in ten minutes," he states, walking away before I can respond.

I walk back to my desk with butterflies in my stomach. I don't know whether the butterflies are down to nervousness, or the feeling he'd given me when I'd felt his gaze envelop my body. I wonder what I'm going to say to him. Maybe he won't mention anything about us. Maybe we're all in the past. I surely made it seem that way back in Mississippi. Maybe we're just going to resume the role of employer and employee now, like it should have been in the first place. Maybe all we're going to do is talk about the current campaign and that's going to be it. I manage to convince myself and find the nerve to gather up my papers.

I walk towards his office and knock twice.

"Come in."

Taking a deep breath, I turn the doorknob and walk in.

"Have a seat," he instructs as he gets up off his chair and closes the door behind me.

Nervously, I sit down. There's a silence that threatens never to end if one of us doesn't say something. The only thing I can do is what I came here to do. So I begin to make my report. "Mr. LeBeau," I begin, "the campaign so far has been progressing well. Peter has employed the work of several impressive digital designers that will…"

"I don't want to talk about dat," he cuts me off as he looks down at me, merely inches away. His eyes are serious, his composure tense and all I want to do is wrap my arms around him and ease him out of it. Of course, I don't do anything but inhale a sharp breath of air.

"Well, if yah wanna get into the contract details with the –"

"I wanna talk about us."

_Well, at least he can cut to the chase…_

I say nothing and wait for him to continue.

"I can't stand dis, Rogue," he finally bursts. "Dis silence. De cold shoulder. De way t'ings are between us. You're drivin' me crazy, chere. Let's talk dis over and work things out."

"There's nothing to talk about, Mr. LeBeau –"

"Don't give me dis Mr. LeBeau bullshit! I'm sick and tired of all dese games! I've tried, chere, I've really tried! But every time I look at you…And every time you look at me…" He pauses, taking in a breath. "You know as well as I know dat dere's still something between us," he finishes softly, "and I ain't gonna waste time fencin' wit' you anymore. Not if I have a chance. Tell me I still got a chance, chere."

His gaze is so intense I can barely breathe. My heart is in my throat as I hurriedly rise from my seat.

"Ah think we've said all that needed to be said back in Caldecott," I breathe. "Now, if you'll excuse me…" I try to make a break for the door, but my knees buckle and I almost fall. The next moment his arms are around me, helping me upright, holding me close, and I find my face just inches from his, my lips just millimeters from his kiss. Our bodies are pressed so close it almost takes our breaths away, it almost makes me gasp at the intimacy of the embrace.

_This is the closest we've been since that night we were together…_

His arms ring my waist, holding me closer to the familiar warm hardness of his body, and for once I have no inclination to resist.

"I know y're scared," he murmurs tantalizingly, his husky voice stirring up all the innermost feelings I thought I'd buried, "and goddammit, I am too. But I'm not gonna back down. You asked me once if I would fight for you. Guess what, chere, dat's exactly what I'm doin'." He pauses, and I say nothing, I can't find the words… He shifts, breathing in the fragrance of my lips and says, "I want you, Rogue…"

I want to whimper at the passion in his voice, I want to move that one inch closer and kiss him. But instead I close my eyes, I swallow hard, I breathe in the spicy scent of him and remember that one amazing night between us…

"Ah want yah too, Remy…"

**Ring, ring!**

My eyes fly open and I find myself staring straight into his seductive, crimson-eyed gaze before we hesitantly break apart. The heat of our embrace is lost. He sits slowly on the edge of the desk and picks up the phone, never once taking his eyes off of mine. There's hope in his glance now, hope that we can be something more, and it feels good to know I've given him that hope, that I'm not so afraid anymore…

"_Oui_?" he speaks into the receiver evenly, calmly, his eyes still searching my face. "Yes, she's here. We're just havin' an update at de moment. Uh huh… Right now? D'accord… Sure, I'll let her know."

He slowly places the phone back in its cradle, looks at me.

"Who was that?" I ask.

"JP. He wants t' speak t' you. Right now. Sounds important."

"Guess our tete-a-tete is gonna have to wait…" I remark softly, disappointed despite myself.

"I guess so."

My eyes lift to his again and we share a last wordless, longing gaze.

I turn to the door.

"Rogue," he says.

I pause.

"Tomorrow afternoon, I take you out for lunch, okay? We can carry on talkin' dis through…"

My heart lifts at his words.

"No can do, sugah. A friend's gettin' married tomorrow and Ah have bridesmaid duties."

"Oh…" he murmurs and I can almost feel his brain working, trying to find a way round it… I turn round and add quickly: "The reception should be a great shindig though. Maybe yah might wanna come."

He looks surprised.

"Really?"

"St. Michael's church, two-thirty?"

He smiles. "I'll be there."

He looks so relieved, so adorable that I just can't help myself. I cross the room, gently grasp the lapels of his jacket and capture his lips in a chaste kiss. His hands instinctively go to my hips, his touch strong yet light as he grips me. His lips feel so good on mine and I want to give him more, but we both know now isn't the time. I break away unwillingly, but he holds me a moment longer, his hands lightly traveling the curve of my butt before smoothing upward to rest snugly in the small of my back.

"I'll be thinkin' of nothin' but you all night…" he drawls, his eyes longingly tracing the arch of my mouth.

"Ah'll see yah tomorrow," I whisper.

He lets go of me reluctantly.

I leave the room feeling like I'm walking on air.

-oOo-

Evening had descended on the city and Jean Grey stood in the entrance of the _Hideaway_ as she'd been doing several nights a week since she'd last spoken to Logan. Every time she'd come here and stood in amongst the throng of partygoers her resolution had failed her and she'd stand there, bathed in the warm neon lights, unable to put that one step forward and go inside.

The truth was, she no longer had any reason to go inside. This time tomorrow, she'd be a married woman and her encounters with Logan would all be in the past. Most likely she'd never step a foot in the _Hideaway_ again. Maybe she'd see him now and then, walking down the street or in the Super Low Val-U Mart. Maybe they'd even smile at one another and say 'hello'. Maybe they'd be able to pretend there weren't any feelings between them, that there never had been in the first place.

So why was she here, yet again, standing in the entrance, wondering whether she should go in? Jean wasn't entirely sure herself. The past fortnight her heart had ached and she'd been pining for those few precious minutes she'd spent in Logan's company. She hadn't seen him again since that incident at the gas station and she didn't think she could handle the thought of not seeing him again as an unmarried woman. It sounded absurd but if she could just lay her eyes on him one more time before she signed her life away to Scott's she'd be happy. She didn't even have to talk to him. Just look at him, know he was doing fine, feel the feeling she always got when she saw him…

And then what? What if she'd want more? What if one peek wouldn't be enough, what if she'd have to walk right in there up to the bar and talk to him because she wanted to hear his voice again? And what if even _that_ wasn't enough? What if she wanted a smile, a tender touch, a kiss? What if she wanted one last night of freedom?

That was why she stood here. That's why she never went inside. Because she was afraid of temptation, because she was afraid that if she found the courage to love him, she wouldn't be able to let him go. And Scott didn't deserve that. _He_ hadn't succumbed to temptation. She owed him her fidelity. Even if it was going to cost her passion, excitement…love. True love.

Horror washed over her and she knew she couldn't stand here waiting any longer. Whirling round to leave she found herself crashing headlong into a stranger. She stumbled and almost fell, but the man caught her, grasping her by the elbows, holding her upright.

"Whoa, chere. You okay?"

Jean looked up shakily, finding herself staring into a handsome face, the eyes obscured by a pair of shades. But she was too distressed to pay any attention to her rescuer. Quickly she jerked away from his grasp, her gaze distracted.

"I…I'm sorry," she breathed and ran back to her car. She was being utterly selfish, thinking only of _her_ needs. If she broke things off with Scott she wouldn't only be letting him down. What about her family, who'd been preparing and investing so much into this day? What about her friends, who'd planned so much of it, who wanted to share it with her? How could she bear to let them down?

Jean slid into her car, slumped her head against the wheel and breathed in hard. There was no way she wasn't going to see this through. Tomorrow she would be what she'd wanted to be the past five years. She was going to be married to the _only_ man she loved. She was going to be Mrs. Jean Summers and a beautiful future was going to lie ahead of her.

Only trouble was, she wasn't sure it was a future she wanted anymore.

-xXx-

Remy watched the distressed redhead run off with a concerned expression on his face. She'd seemed so upset – almost in tears – and he wondered whether she'd been having trouble with anyone inside the club. Instinct told him to go after her, but before he could she'd disappeared around the corner and out of sight.

Remy shrugged, trying to put this latest event aside. He had enough on his plate without being some lady's knight in shining armor yet again. Instead he turned and walked inside his favorite haunt. The _Hideaway_ had always welcomed him with the smell of liquor and cigarette smoke, the warmth of body heat and the promise of pretty women. Tonight though, he had other things on his mind. He took off his shades, tucked them into his shirt pocket, took his usual seat at the bar, signaled for the usual bourbon and lit up the usual cigarette. Several scantily-clad girls brushed up against him like they always did, inviting him into their arms and their beds with a subtle touch and a sexy look. Normally he would've thought it bad manners to disappoint them. Tonight his mind was firmly on a certain sassy Mississippi river-rat and how the last thing he wanted was to disappoint her. He was in-love all over again and it felt goddamn good.

"Still no lady, bub?"

Logan was standing at the bar, just like he always was, a drink in his hand. There was no love lost between the two, but Remy was in such a good mood he couldn't help smiling. "Non," he replied. "But dis time tomorrow I'm hopin' will be diff'rent."

Logan smirked and slid his drink over. "So Green Eyes wanted some spice in her life after all?"

"Turns out she wasn't spoken for anyways," Remy replied evenly, downing a mouthful and giving a wry smile. "Turns out t'ings were more complicated den another man. Still, her an' me… mebbe by tomorrow, we can work t'ings out."

"You seem pretty confident," Logan remarked gruffly, absent-mindedly serving another customer while managing to maintain full concentration on the conversation. Remy grinned.

"She's given me reason to be," he replied.

"Oh really?"

A blonde in a skirt which could've doubled up for a belt came up beside him and leaned across the bar, displaying a pair of breasts even Emma would've envied. She passed Remy a come-hither look, the kind of look that said _buy me a drink and let's go find a corner_. Logan watched out of the corner of his eye as Remy gave her the once over with an appreciative smile, but said nothing. After a moment, thoroughly disappointed, the blonde sidled away with an indignant pout on her lips.

"Well ain't this heartwarming," Logan noted sardonically. "You don't even know if Green Eyes really wants you and all of a sudden you're actin' like you're taken."

Remy snorted and held his drink to his lips. "Rogue's easily hotter den any other femme in dis room."

"Rogue?" Logan raised an eyebrow. "She _sounds_ hot."

"Oh she is, mon ami. _Red_ hot."

Logan screwed up his face in distaste. "Sounds like she has you wrapped round her li'l finger, bub."

"She can wrap me round any part of her most gorgeous anatomy any time of de day or night, mon ami," Remy quipped, to which Logan merely grunted skeptically and turned to pick up a bottle of vodka. This wasn't the Remy he was used to, the Remy who'd come in practically every night with a random girl on his arm and who'd pick up a different one on the way out. This Remy was the kind of guy the old Remy would've scoffed at. Even Logan would've been laughing at how the tables had turned if he hadn't been feeling so lovelorn himself.

"So," Remy asked him from behind, sounding a little smug now that he was about to snare the lady of his dreams, "how're t'ings goin' wit' dat femme you were interested in?"

Logan frowned and busied himself with pouring out some more drinks. "Four words – they ain't goin' nowhere, Gumbo," he replied, his tone surly. "Hell, I ain't even see the broad the past fortnight or so."

"Aw, c'mon," Remy joked slyly. "I thought you were de regular old charmer wit' de ladies, Logan. All y' have t' do is snarl at dem dat way you do and dey be swoonin' at your feet."

Logan was in no mood to be teased. He bared his teeth and glared at Remy just like a regular canine and said menacingly: "I can still throw your sorry ass out of this joint, Cajun, not to mention show you what a knuckle-sandwich really tastes like. Jus' cos I ain't as lucky with the chicks as you are…" He trailed off, grumbling to himself.

"Hey, hey, I didn't mean no disrespect," Remy held up his hands, realizing he'd touched a sore spot. "I didn't know you were _dat_ interested in dis femme…"

"Save it, Cajun," Logan interrupted bluntly. "I don't wanna hear anymore 'bout it, okay? Red's gettin' married and if I go down her place an' try to talk things over with her, I'll just be gettin' in the way. She don't want me," he finished morosely, turning away again.

"How de hell d'you know?" Remy demanded, annoyed to see the usually brusque and forthright bar-owner feeling sorry for himself. "Weren't you de one who told me not to give up on Rogue? Merde, if you really loved dis woman you'd go fight for her. You always walkin' round like you're de man, punchin' people's daylights out, growlin' at dem when dey act outta line… Why you actin' like such a wuss all of a sudden?"

"Because Red don't want me!" Logan bellowed at the infuriating Cajun. "Because no one would want a washed-up old failure like me, someone who can't even remember what it's like to be close to anyone anymore! I mean look at me! What would a gorgeous girl who already has a man who's dependable and reliable …what the hell would she want with _me_!"

By now half the bar staff and patrons were staring at him in silent amazement at his violent outburst and he swiveled back to the rows of drinks behind the bar again, seething with fury and self-pity, not even caring anymore that half the club knew what a sad loser he was. Even Remy was temporarily shocked into speechlessness at his explosion before slowly finding his voice again.

"Waitaminnit… Red? As in redhead?"

"That's what I said," Logan muttered belligerently. "So what?"

"So," Remy returned in a troubled tone, "I just saw dis redhead outside de entrance, lookin' all upset and like she was gonna cry… I thought someone in here had been givin' her trouble, but she ran 'way before I could find out…"

Logan swung round.

"What? Where?" he demanded, his self pity vanished and his senses now fully alert. "Out there? When!"

"Jus' b'fore I came in…" Remy answered, a little taken aback at the feral look in the older man's eyes. "She left b'fore I could do anyt'ing…"

But Logan was barely listening, his gaze far-away as he remembered that day they'd met at the gas station, the way her body had stiffened when it had brushed against his, the way her eyes had burned and her flesh had goosepimpled…"Jean…" he half whispered to himself. Maybe she hadn't forgotten about him after all…

"But it might not have been her," Remy continued in the background while Logan stood there dumbly, staring at the door. "Dere could be any number o' redheads round dis area right now and besides… she's gone now…"

_Gone now_.

And yet she'd been waiting for him. Waiting for him outside this building, wondering if she should see him again one last time. And God knew how many times she'd been doing the same thing. God knew how many times he'd missed his chance to find out, to _really_ find out whether this was just a crazy dream or reality.

For the rest of the night and long into the small hours, Logan was haunted, haunted by the idea that maybe, _somehow_, he and his redheaded doctor could still be something more…

-oOo-

At that moment, on the other side of town, Emma was merrily driving over to Betsy's apartment, humming a ridiculous and mostly tone-deaf tune to herself. The past week or so, life had been like a dream for Emma. That wasn't to say it hadn't been without its trials. After all the men she'd eaten her way through, she'd had to get used to treating a guy as an equal in her life - not to mention just plain doing the things that couples normally did. But for once Emma was willing to learn, and even she had to admit she didn't know she had so much patience. But it was all worth it knowing that at the end of the day Bobby would be there for her, and, if nothing else, cheer her up with his asinine anecdotes.

Yes, Emma was doing a lot of loving and a lot of smiling these days. She was surprised her face hadn't cracked yet.

What with all this relationship stuff taking over her life, the only downside was that she'd been rather neglecting her friends of late. So now she was taking the opportunity to spend the night on the town with Betsy. The two had planned the date weeks ago and honestly Emma had all but forgotten about it. She'd much rather have spent the night with Bobby, but since the code of ethics always said that neglecting friends for boyfriends was a bad idea, Emma decided it was time for a bit of catching up on gossip before Jean's wedding got underway.

Little did she know just how much catching up she was heading for.

Emma parked her car and glided up to Betsy's apartment. Ringing the bell, she took out her compact mirror and checked her make-up while she waited for her purple-haired friend to answer the door. A minute and a half later she was still waiting and she was about to punch the buzzer again when the door swung open.

She nearly got the shock of her life when she saw Warren Worthington on the other side, wearing nothing but a blue silk bathrobe and with a wineglass in his hand. She thought she'd woken up in the middle of an old _Dynasty_ re-run. Or a very bad nightmare for that matter.

"_Worthington_!" she practically screeched, just at the same moment that he cried: "_Emma Frost_!"

"What are _you_ doing here!" they both exclaimed in unison.

There was silence as both viewed the other with mutual dislike and disbelief.

"I think you've got the wrong address," Warren finally spoke coldly.

"Pfft." Emma crossed her arms and glared at him. "More like _you're _in the wrong apartment. This happens to be my friend's home. Does she know you're partying in her place, or shall I let her know myself?"

Warren stared at her in shock.

"Betsy's _your_ friend?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Have you got a problem with that, Worthington?"

Warren blinked and said nothing. Now that Emma came to think about it, she _did_ remember Betsy mentioning Warren Worthington, though she couldn't remember just _why_… Then suddenly it dawned on her.

_Uh oh. She said she fancied him, you moron! Shit! Don't tell me she hasn't gone and -!_

Horror on her face, Emma barged past Warren and into the lounge.

"Where's Betsy?" she shrieked.

Warren shut the door and gave her a nettled look. "She's in the shower. And don't you think it's a bit rude to barge in here uninvited?"

"I'm on Betsy's guest-list 24/7, Worthington. That's what friends are for. Besides," she sneered at him, "isn't it a bit rude to go opening doors on strangers wearing that hideous bathrobe?"

Warren stared down at his flamboyant attire.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked. "I don't recall you ever dressing appropriately for any occasion. Since when are bustiers de rigeur for business meetings?"

Emma was just about to make some really cutting remark about blond mullets when the door behind her opened and in stepped Betsy, glowing in a lacy white gown of her own. When she saw Emma she stopped short, with what could only be described as a _doh!_ expression on her face.

"Oh…uh…Hello, Emma," she greeted her friend with a shamefaced smile. "Long time no see. And…uh…What brings you here?"

"We had a date, incase you forgot," Emma snapped churlishly. "Or am I second-best to Mr. Warren Worthington now?"

The smile faded from Betsy's face as she hastened to explain: "What? Of course not! I…I simply forgot, that's all. And well…to be honest, I figured that with all the time you were spending with Bobby, the night out was canceled anyway." She took in a breath, released it. "I'm sorry, Emma."

"Pfft. What-_ever_. At least _I_ took the initiative to come here when I could've been all loved up with my man like _you_ so obviously are. And why is _he_ here anyway?" Emma jabbed a finger rudely in Warren's direction. "Don't tell me, Betsy. You're seeing him for real, aren't you? How long has this been going on for without me knowing?"

"Betsy doesn't owe you any explanations," Warren interrupted heatedly, before Betsy could make an answer. "And I _do_ have a name you know, and it's not Worthington. Maybe you could call me by it, if you had any manners."

"Don't you dare talk to me about manners!" Emma spat, scowling at him. "And for your information, Betsy is one of my best friends, so yes, I _do_ think she owes me an explanation!"

"Oh come off it, Emma. Some friend you must be, if she's too scared to tell you that she's got someone who _really_ cares about her in her life."

"Why you little _prick_, insinuating that I don't care about my -"

"Well, it isn't like you've even come round to see how Betsy's been getting on the past week or -"

"Oh, and I'm sure you've been taking _real_ good care of her, swanning round looking manly in your big blue nightgown you pompous little -"

"Shut up, the both of you!" Betsy suddenly shouted over the top of them both. They paused and Betsy heaved a pent-up sigh of relief before continuing quietly: "Warren's right. I _was_ too scared to tell you the truth, Emma." Emma looked like she was about to protest but Betsy put up a hand quickly to silence her. "And Warren, Emma's right too. I _do_ owe her an explanation." Calmly she turned back to Emma, saying: "Look, Emma… I know you and Warren don't see eye-to-eye, and that's why I didn't want to tell you what's going on. I just thought… well, that you'd go _crazy_." Emma gave her an offended look and all Betsy could do was shrug and say: "Well, it wouldn't be the first time."

Emma glowered.

"So you thought it'd be better to just keep this from me? As if I wouldn't find out sooner or later?"

"It was wrong of me, I know," Betsy answered sheepishly. "But I'm not asking you to _like_ Warren, Emma. All I'm asking is that you give me a chance to be happy, that you allow me to have what's best for me. Because Warren… he makes me happy, Emma." She passed Warren a smile and he gave a comforting one back. "He makes me feel happier than I've ever been. Surely that has to count for something, Emma? Even if you can't get along, can't you just agree to be civil with one another? At least for me?" She paused and Emma gave a dubious look. Even Warren looked a little skeptical at the suggestion. "_Please_?" she begged one last time.

Warren looked at Emma. Emma looked at Warren. It was like a standoff from the Wild West. Anyone could tell that they'd willingly have blown one another up with that one glance if they could have. But how could they ignore the heartfelt plea of someone they both loved dearly?

"Well, I guess we _could_ call a truce," Emma conceded through gritted teeth.

"At least a temporary one," Warren added in an equally forced tone.

Betsy stared at their grimacing faces. "Do you promise?" she asked innocently, wanting to ensure she had complete loyalty from both of them. In her heart of hearts she wanted nothing better than to have these two people she loved best become friends. _It's a long shot…but it has to happen sometime… All it'll take is a little persuasion…_

"I promise," Emma assured her, still through gritted teeth.

"Me too," Warren nodded, refusing to look at Emma.

Betsy clapped her hands and gave a huge sigh of relief.

"Well, that's a relief! Because I was hoping that since you're here, Emma, we could _all_ go out for a drink together. Maybe break the ice a bit, you know? You never know - maybe you guys will _actually_ end up getting along, right? So - whaddaya think?"

Emma and Warren exchanged a look.

"That'd be great." Emma gave a smile so wooden it really looked as if it would've split.

"Yeah - cool idea, Betts," Warren agreed feebly.

"Great!" Betsy grinned. "I'll go get changed!"

Once Betsy was out of the room, the two rivals stared after her in bewilderment.

"Is she out of her freakin' mind?" Emma hissed incredulously.

"I don't know, but this idea reeks," Warren whispered in disgust.

They both glanced at one another helplessly.

"Like hell we're ever going to get along."

-xXx-

It's the final day before the wedding. For the past week or so Jean's been staying at her parents' house getting everything prepared. Mrs. Grey had insisted that Jean do things the old-fashioned way and not see her husband-to-be until the day of the wedding. I'd thought that Jean had given way to her mother's wishes a little too easily, but what do I know? I never had the chance to get this far myself. Heaven knows if Irenie had forced me to do the same thing, I'd've snuck out for a final rendezvous with Cody whether she liked it or not.

Tonight I'd gone to the Grey's residence to help out with the last minute preparations. Mrs. Grey was happy to see me as usual, smothering me with homemade cookies and cakes and God knows what else, bless her soul. Mr. Grey looked none to pleased that he was losing his little princess to someone who wasn't worthy of her – but then again, from his point of view, no one was. Jean's elder sister, Sarah, was giving advice on everything from joint bank accounts to kitchen utensils to honeymoons. In the middle of it all, Jean was looking rather woebegone. I didn't know whether to put this down to last-minute jitters or something else. It took an hour before we finally managed to break away from the loving family and escape to Jean's old bedroom.

"So, Jeannie," I ask, once Jean's locked the door just like she'd used to back in the day when we were schoolgirls, "how're yah feelin' about t'morrow?"

"I think I'm gonna barf," Jean replies dolefully. I laugh.

"Dontcha worry none, sugah. Everyone feels like that the night before. Once y'all are up an' walkin' down the aisle, you'll be fine."

Jean half turns and runs a hand down the front of her beautiful silk bridal gown that's hanging on her wardrobe door, her expression unconvinced.

"Yeah…" she sighs dubiously.

"Hey," I take her by the shoulders and look her worriedly in the eye. "You're not _really_ going t'barf, are yah? Yah ain't really_ that_ nervous?"

A smile cracks her face and she finally manages a laugh.

"Of course I'm not going to barf, silly!" She grins. "I'm _fine_. I'm just curious about _you_, Rogue. The past week or so you've been going around looking miserable. Now you're smiling like you know some juicy secret Emma's told you. So come on then – when are you going to let me in on it?"

Oh right. Here I was thinking I was going to pump a little information out of her, and she goes and turns the darn table onto me. And I fall right into her trap. Just thinking about my little 'conversation' with Remy this morning makes my smile widen and my cheeks flush. When I think of how he'd held me in his arms and told me he still wanted me…

"Well, it ain't really a secret…" I finally reply. "It ain't really nothin' at all… But now that yah mention it, Ah _do_ have a little favor to ask of yah."

"Me?" She looks curious. "What?"

"Well, Ah invited someone to the reception tomorrow, and Ah was wonderin' whether that was okay with you and Scott. Ah didn't want to intrude or anythin', but…well, come t' think of it, Ah wasn't quite thinkin' straight at the time and Ah wasn't thinkin' about you or Scott at all…"

"Anna, you've got me intrigued here. Who've you invited? Are you seeing someone?"

"Well, not yet…" I blurt, still feeling embarrassed though I have no idea why.

"Rogue, you're blushing." She grins and raises an eyebrow. "It's Remy LeBeau, isn't it."

The fact that I'm blushing more furiously than ever says it all.

"Ah hope yah don't mind…" I say.

The smile that fills Jean's face is so wide I'm afraid it might break her face. "Of course I don't mind!" she exclaims.

I look up at her dubiously. "Yah sure?"

"Rogue," she reassures me, "you care for the guy. Anyone with two eyes in their head could see it a mile away. Of _course _I don't mind. Besides," and she gave a wicked smirk, "I simply can't _wait_ to finally meet this man. Emma gave him a most glowing report, and you know what it takes to get a glowing report for _anyone_ out of her."

"Emma?" I'm shocked and confused. Jean grins and turns to pack away her veil, which has been left lying on the dressing table.

"She's the one who told him you were in Mississippi the other week," she explains.

"Oh," I say. I don't want to be reminded of what happened back in Caldecott. Jean sees my look and gives me a sympathetic smile. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks softly. I slump onto the end of her bed and cast my gaze down at the floor.

"Nah…nothin' much t' say really… Ah just said some pretty cruel things to Remy, that's all." I sigh regretfully, shamefaced.

"Really?" Jean sits down next to me. "From the way you made things sound when you came back, he was the one who was being out of order."

"No," I'm abashed to admit, "it was all me. Ah was selfish, Jean. He…he told meh he loved me and… well, Ah told him he didn't know what love meant."

Jean's eyes go wide. "He said that to you?"

I nod. "Yup."

"Oh." She was silent a moment. "So…You think he meant it?"

I shrug. "Ah think so. At least he believes it."

"Then why should _you _doubt it?"

"Ah don't know. Ah just…Ah'm just scared Ah guess." I chew on my lip, continue: "That's why Ah've asked him to the reception tomorrow. Ah want t' sort this out between us as soon as Ah possibly can. Ah just can't wait another moment without –"

I pause and Jean stares at me.

"Without what?"

I lower my face, my cheeks burning.

"Without knowin' if he still resents me for what Ah said. Without knowin' if he still thinks Ah'm worth his time." I take a deep breath and add: "Without _him_, period." I raise my eyes to Jean's and she looks at me wordlessly, waiting for me to continue. "Ah'm ready to start again, Jean," I confess. "Ah really think Ah am this time."

"With him?" she asks gently.

"Ah hope so."

We both fall into silence and for the first time I realize how nervous I am about tomorrow. _If he rejects meh, Ah don't know what Ah'll do…even if Ah know Ah deserve it…_

"So," Jean questions, seeing my dismal expression, "Emma's glowing report wasn't far off then? He really _is_ to die for?" I look up at her and see an impish grin on her lips, which immediately coaxes me out of my downcast mood. I can't help but chuckle, relieved that I can finally talk to _someone_ about this without them wanting to crawl all over my personal life.

"He sure is," I agree with a wistful smile. "And _then_ some. He's gorgeous and sexy and smart and funny… And has the most amazin' body… Not to mention he's one _fine_ kisser…"

"And in bed…?"

I don't even blush. "And in bed…" I bite my lip and act coy, "…Let's just say it was the best sex Ah ever had."

Jean cocks an eyebrow and can't resist probing for more. "You mean…?"

"Ah mean this guy likes t' take his time…"

"You mean as in multiple-orgasms-likes-to-take-his-time?"

I say nothing and try not to look too smug. She's the one to burst into laughter first and a few seconds later we're rolling around the bed like teenage schoolgirls at a sleepover all over again.

All of a sudden I can't wait for tomorrow to finally come.

-oOo-

_To be continued..._


	23. One Wedding and a Furore

**Disclaimer: **The characters in this story belong to Marvel and not to us. Although it must be said that we depower mutants way cooler than they do... XD

**A/N: ishandahalf - **What are you, gal, some sort of mind-reader? Something you said just practically hit the nail on the head. Oh well, we do hope this chapter leaves you dying of joy rather than disbelief. ;p **demiducky25 - **Meh heh, how we manage to write in such perfect synchronicity is a well-guarded secret. ;) As for how long the girls have been friends, I think we mentioned waaaaay back in Chapter 2 that they met once at summer camp and became inseparable after that - well, as inseparable as you can be when you're living in other parts of the world. In the end though, they all ended up in NYC and their bond grew stronger. :) **Sweety8587**- Lol, yeah, that phone really needs to be clobbered with a very big mallet or something. **Sierra -** Well, I guess we should be flattered since you don't usually like this muck, although to be honest, we've been writing most of this with tongue firmly in cheek... ;p **Tammy -** We're so glad you like Jean and Anna's friendship. It's funny because at first that special relationship wasn't there, and then as the story went along it started to grow. That's the great thing about writing these stories, you never know where your characters are going to take you, right? ;)

Well, that's about it for our blathering folks...now onto the story! (Sorry it took so long, this was an incredibly difficult chapter to write!)

-xOx-

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(23) One Wedding and a Furore**

It's finally the morning of the wedding, and Jean's childhood bedroom is a tidal wave of bustling females – me, Betsy, Emma, her mother, her sister, and an assortment of relatives I don't even recognize. In the middle of the surge I can just about make out Jean from the crown of flowers adorning her veiled head. Mrs. Grey is bawling away into her handkerchief about her daughter being all grown up, while Sarah is grinning and rearranging the elegant string of pearls round Jean's neck, which obviously seems to be a family heirloom. Betsy and Emma are fighting over the digital camera, each insisting that they should be the one to capture all the moments. Heads duck as the camera goes flying through the air and almost smashes an antique vase in the process. Instead of scolding there's laughter. Everyone's too cheerful to be moaning about boring stuff like broken vases.

Yup, it's the usual morning-of-the-wedding rush, the one I never got round to having. Nevertheless, I'm standing on the sidelines, smiling. The happiness is infectious and despite my memories of Cody, I can't help feeling glad that this is Jean's special day. I stand on tiptoes and look over the throng of girls. Jean's in the middle of it all, not saying a word, the smile on her face strained. I frown a little. _Must be down t' nerves…_

I half turn and look at myself in the full-length mirror. I'm wearing the strapless, low-cut dress that all us bridesmaids are wearing, a classy-looking concoction of lilac-colored satin that hugs my figure like a second skin. My hair's been caught back in an elegant chignon, with soft white curls framing my cheeks and a single sprig of flowers tucked behind my left ear. I would be lying if I said that I hadn't made an extra special effort today. I want to look as beautiful for Remy as much as I do for Jean's big day. I want to show him just how worth it I really am. _Remy. _Just the thought of seeing him again gives me butterflies. I don't think I've ever been so excited or frightened just to see one man in my entire life.

I press my fingers to my lips and smile to myself.

"You're looking especially beautiful today, Rogue," Emma notes, coming up beside me. Before I notice what she's up to she lifts the camera and snaps a picture of me. I decide to let her get away with it and pass her a gracious smile.

"Why, thank yah."

"No, I mean it," Emma replies seriously, "you look most delicious." She checks how the photo turned out before putting the camera aside and asking suspiciously: "Is there any special man making an appearance at this wedding?"

I stare at her. Trust Emma to sniff out a tryst!

"Of course not," I reply, my cheeks coloring. She gazes at me with narrowed eyes.

"Anna Raven, I don't believe a word of it!" she scoffs. "When a woman looks as hot as you do right now, it _has_ to be for a man. So come on – tell me who he is. Or shall I guess?"

As luck would have it, before I can make my reply the white wedding limo starts hooting us from outside – lucky because I know Emma wouldn't give up until she'd forced the truth out of me, even if it involved the use of a shotgun. There's a general flurry as Mrs. Grey starts protesting about being too late. A rustle of skirts, a swirl of bouquets and everyone's filtered out to go and fight over car seats. Jean stays reluctantly behind under the pretext of doing some final arrangements to her gown. I stand in the doorway silently, not knowing whether I should stay or leave. I haven't had a chance to speak to Jean at all since we got here, and I feel the need to add my own private congratulations. The others finally gone, peace reigns once more and Jean heaves a weary sigh before passing me a look that says 'well, what can you do?' I smile broadly at her, holding my arms open to my old friend. She moves to return the hug and I enfold her in a loving embrace.

"Jean, yah look beautiful!" I exclaim.

"So do you," she smiles, hugging me warmly.

"But not half as much as you," I assure her. "Ah can't tell yah how happy Ah am for you and Scott. Ah only hope you two find the happiness that Cody and Ah never got to have."

"I hope so too," Jean squeezes me fondly before breaking away. "But everyone knows we can never have anything as special as you and Cody did."

"Don't be silly!" I scoff. "You and Scott have been together for ages! You make such a great couple!"

To my surprise, Jean turns away and looks herself over in the mirror again, her gaze pensive. "You really think so?" she asks softly. I catch her morose tone and lay a hand on her shoulder.

"Jean, sugah, is somethin' wrong? You're not gettin' cold feet now, are yah?"

She looks round at me, a wan smile on her lips.

"Rogue, you know the feeling? When you meet someone, and suddenly everything falls into place, and you suddenly realize that everything in your life has been just a prelude, a set-up for that one moment where you meet that one person? You know the feeling I'm talking about?"

I stare at her, the words sinking in slowly as I realize that whoever she's talking about _isn't _Scott.

_She's fallen in love with someone else…_

"Jean…" I begin, but she hushes me, placing a gloved finger gently on my lips.

"No – it doesn't matter," she says softly, sadly. "I told him it was over. Scott and I… we've been together so long…loved one another for so long… I can't end it, not even for this feeling inside me. Call me crazy, Rogue, but I can't break that loyalty to Scott, I just can't, I'm too afraid to… And there's a part of me that still – that will always – love him…"

Her finger drops from my lips, but I can't say a word and tears fill my eyes as I realize what she's sacrificing.

"You're a better woman than Ah am," I say at last. "Ah could never give the same to Cody."

"Cody's gone to a better place," Jean replies gently. "You shouldn't feel guilty about your feelings for Remy."

I blush. "Ah know. It's just… It's taken some gettin' used to, yah know? Lovin' someone else…"

"So is that what it is? Love?" she asks. I sense she's glad to have the subject turn away from her.

"Ah… Ah think so. There are so many emotions goin' round inside me, Ah can hardly make head or tail of it mahself. But yeah… It sure feels like love."

The smile that lights Jean's face is genuine.

"After everything you've been through, I'm so happy that things are finally turning right for you, Rogue," she breathes.

"Really? Even when you're hurtin' inside, Jeannie?"

"Rogue," she smiles and squeezes my shoulder reassuringly, "darling, if something good can come out of all this then how could I not? You know I've only ever wanted happiness for you. And if you'll allow me to say it – I can see you really care for the guy. You'll work things out."

"Ah hope so." I hold Jean's face tenderly between my hands, say: "Oh Jean, Ah only want happiness for you too. Are you sure marryin' Scott is what you really want?"

Indecision crosses her face and she's about to make her reply when Betsy opens the door and pokes her head through.

"Ladies, it's time. If we don't leave now we'll be well past the arena of 'fashionably late'."

"Oh God, is that the time?" Jean quickly brushes her gown down and reaches for her bouquet. "Can't miss my big day now, can I?" She rushes out, Betsy behind her. I take one last look in the mirror, rearrange the flowers in my hair, run a hand over the front of the lilac satin dress. Jean's confession has disconcerted and saddened me, but at the same time a nervous joy is spreading through me as I think of finally seeing Remy again, of finally telling him… I love him. And I don't want to disappoint him.

I smile slightly at my reflection.

For the first time in four years, I'm ready to let someone new into my life and it feels good not to be afraid anymore.

-oOo-

The limos drew up outside the church about fifteen minutes too late, but at last out stepped the bridal company - first the bridesmaids, looking radiant and knowing it; then the pageboy and pagegirl, Jean's niece and nephew; then the rest of her relatives; and then finally Jean herself, on the arm of her very proud father.

It was a beautiful early-December morning - the air was crisp and cool, but the sun was shining in full force from a clear blue sky, and the birds were singing. It was the weather everyone had been hoping for. Jean drew her embroidered white shawl over her elbows and turned round to the others.

"Everybody ready?" she asked expectantly. Each one of the girls smiled and nodded back. Only Rouge shivered in the cool winter air, and Jean knew she was torn between feeling worried for her and also elated at the prospect of seeing Remy again. A short look passed between her and the bride-to-be, and Jean gave her a small nod before turning back to the church, saying: "Good, because I really want to get this over and done with."

Everyone laughed at what they presumed was a joke - only Rogue remained silent. Again Jean passed her a half sympathic, half encouraging smile.

_Don't feel sorry for me, Rogue,_ she thought. _I'm doing the right thing. At least, here's hoping I am._

She grimaced and turned towards the beautiful building where her life was going to change forever. "Well…shall we?"

The party quickly hurried towards the church, the guests going to take their seats before Jean's grand entrance. While this was going on, the rest of the bridal party stood in the church's hallway, looking round at one another with nervous but happy smiles.

"God, my heart's beating a mile a minute!" Betsy exclaimed in a half whisper. "And I'm not even the one getting married!"

"I wish Bobby was here," Emma moaned. It hadn't escaped anyone's notice that she'd been swigging from a bottle of red wine the entire trip down to the church, and no doubt she was wishing she had someone to distract her and ease her tortured nerves. Rogue simply wiggled a disapproving eyebrow at her two highly-strung friends.

"Gawd knows what you gals are gonna be like on _your_ wedding days!" she exclaimed.

"Uggggh!" Emma groaned. "This only goes to confirm it, girls. The day I get married is the day I'm dead and spinning in my grave!"

They weren't the only ones who were fretting. Mr. Grey, who'd been complaining about Scott Summers since day one, was now torn between losing his youngest daughter to some 'no-good accountant', and feeling proud at how beautiful his little princess really was.

"Well, since I know I'm not the only one who's feeling a little out of their depth today," he spoke up from beside Jean, "I guess no one will mind if I come out sounding overly sentimental when I say I'm proud of you, Jean, love. And no matter where you are and what you're doing, you'll always be my special little girl." He patted her cheek lovingly. "And I just know you'll be a perfect wife and a wonderful mother."

Jean smiled, her eyes welling with tears of joy.

"Thanks, dad." She opened her arms and drew him into a hug. "I love you."

"I love you too," he choked and returned the embrace.

Emma, however, looked like she was about to heave.

"Girls…I think I'm gonna throw up."

Before Emma could even get the chance to think of throwing up, the wedding march began to play and it was their signal for the ceremony to begin. Mr. Grey held out his arm to his daughter and, taking in a shaking breath, she accepted and linked her arm with his own. At a sedate yet regal pace, they both began the walk down the aisle. Behind them, the bridesmaids, pageboy and pagegirl followed suit. As soon as Jean entered the room, the entire gathering turned round to look, gasping, smiling and chattering excitedly at the vision of beauty before them. The fervent attention was almost too much for Jean and she'd barely taken four steps up the aisle when she suddenly felt her knees go weak. Up ahead of her she could see Scott standing at the altar, waiting for her with his brother Alex next to him, acting as best man. And the more she looked at him, the stranger he felt to her. Her vision tunneled. The closer she got to him, the further away he seemed to be… She was going to faint. She could feel it. She couldn't do this. She was going to faint…!

She wobbled mid-step, but her father was there, his hand on her own in a strong, steady grip that kept her upright. And somehow that gave her the strength to keep going. She soldiered on, no longer seeing the people around at her, not even her mother's adoring look, nor her sister's encouraging grin, nor the faces of so many who'd turned out for her special day. She closed her eyes.

_I simply can't let them down…_

In front of her, Scott half-turned, peeked at her out of the corner of his eye and gave her a small smile. The smile she gave in return, hidden behind her veil, wavered.

And suddenly, at last she was there, on the altar. She felt her father give her a last heartening squeeze of the hand before stepping back and out of sight. Jean stepped up slowly beside Scott, swallowing hard, her vision hazy, her head giddy. Beside her she felt Scott turn his face towards her, and when she returned the look she saw his beaming smile. The look almost killed her but somehow she managed a smile back.

_I still love him… I know I do… So why can't I bring myself to do this, why does it still not feel right?_

The last strains of the wedding march died away and finally all was in place. The vicar looked out over the congregation and cleared his throat poignantly. There was not a sound to be heard in the entire church. Even Emma, who by now had realized that she'd had a little too much to drink, was keeping deadly quiet.

"Dearly beloved," the vicar began, his voice ringing loud and clear for all to hear, "we are gathered here today to join in holy matrimony Mr. Scott Summers and Dr. Jean Grey."

For the next few minutes the rest of the speech passed over Jean's head like water rolling off a duck's back. Her heart was thudding painfully in her chest and her head was swimming. She felt as dizzy as she had that first night in the _Hideaway_, when she'd climbed the bar and fallen into Logan's arms… …

_No! Don't think about that now! Don't think about _him_! I care for Scott and no matter what I'm not going to leave him. I'm not going to let him down. I simply couldn't. He's a good man and it isn't what he deserves…_

"Are you alright?"

It was Scott whispering in her ear, his voice full of concern. Jean shook herself and nodded quickly, refocusing her attention on the proceedings. The vicar was still talking.

"Lastly," the old man was saying, "if there is any unlawful impediment that should stand between these two, please speak now or forever hold thy peace."

The silence filled the chamber like a deep chasm. At the back of the cortege, Rogue opened her mouth then quickly clamped it shut again.

_It ain't mah place t' say nuthin'… Even if Ah did think this was the wrong thing for her t'be doin', this is what she wants an' Ah can't spoil it for her, Ah just can't…_

The silence seemed to last forever, and Jean could hardly breathe, waiting painfully for those few seconds of silence to be over as she looked up at the vicar expectantly, practically willing him to continue.

_Come on, please come on, stop stalling on me, please don't keep me waiting for -_

"STOP!"

From somewhere at the back of the church there was a crash as the double doors were thrown open violently with a resounding bang. Everyone swiveled round in amazement and confusion at this unexpected disruption. Even Jean was gobsmacked. Whirling round, she froze as soon as she saw who it was that had created the disturbance.

There, in between the swinging doors of the church, stood Logan, still in his leathers and his boots, his hair a bedraggled mess. There was a wild look in his eyes, and his breathing was labored. He looked as if he'd run all the way from Timbuktu, he was so unkempt.

Jean gaped, her mouth opening and closing as she was really quite speechless.

"This wedding can't go on!" Logan announced breathlessly yet firmly, his voice carrying to all four corners of the hall. "It can't go on because it would be a sham! And," he stared up at Jean who was standing statue-like at the top of the altar, "because I love her!"

A ripple of astonished bewilderment took over the guests as they murmured amongst themselves in disbelief. Mrs. Grey looked shocked, while Mr. Grey looked dumbfounded. Just about everyone looked confused. Some even thought it was a tasteless prank. But there was no trace of humor on Logan's face as he cast a beseeching look over at the bride.

"Jean?"

Something in his expression seemed to break the spell on her and she lifted her veil, her mouth finally able to move.

"_Logan_? What the _hell_ are _you_ doing here? How on earth did you _know_- ?"

"I couldn't help it Jean," he called across the length of the aisle, "I had to see you one last time. I went back to your apartment this mornin' and your neighbor, she told me you were at church gettin' married. I'm sorry, Jean, but I just couldn't let that happen."

More astonished exclamations from the guests. The vicar stood and looked up at the ceiling with a _God-give-me-strength_ expression, as if this kind of thing were a regular occurrence and he would've liked just once for the ceremony to go off without a hitch - technically speaking, that is. Jean, meanwhile, stood nearby, completely flabbergasted.

"Jean," Scott finally spoke suspiciously from beside her. "Who is this man?"

She couldn't lie to him. She opened her mouth, her voice stuttering.

"His…his name's Logan. He owns a bar downtown, the _Hideaway_… I went there once while you were away in California… That's how we met…"

There was a short silence while Scott took the words in; then suddenly he laughed.

"And he thinks he's in-love with you? He's crazy!"

"I ain't crazy," Logan interrupted fiercely. "An' I don't _think_ I love her, I'm here 'cos I _know_ I do."

The words were enough to stun Scott into silence.

"Logan," Jean cut in, shaking her head hard. "Please don't do this. Not know. I told you, what we had is over."

"Yeah, you said it was over," Logan conceded, his eyes flashing. "But it ain't what you really felt it your heart, was it, Red. You didn't really _want_ to turn me away, did you?"

"Wait a minute!" Scott burst in indignantly. "What you _had_? What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means she cares for me, bub!" Logan hollered. "And that she knows in her heart of hearts that this isn't what she wants. Ain't that right, Jean?" He turned to her, fixing his deep blue eyes on her timorous green ones. "Search yer heart, Red, and tell me what I said ain't true. You were honest with me about this punk because you said you cared enough about me t' tell me the truth. Ain't that what you said that night y' came round?"

Jean could say nothing. Scott merely looked back and forth between them, his expression outraged. "_What_! You spent the night with this low-life scum while I was away!" he screeched.

Jean shook her head vehemently, turning to her fiancé and grasping onto his jacket desperately.

"It wasn't like that Scott, I promise you!" she beseeched him. "Nothing happened between us, you've got to trust me!" She halted and her voice became quiet: "Just like I trust you."

By now a silence had gripped the entire congregation as they waited with bated breath as to what would happen next. Rogue was looking distressed but helpless at the scene that was unfolding before her. Betsy was standing with her mouth open, secretly thinking that _Sex in the City_ could go and eat its heart out. Emma, meanwhile, was swaying dangerously between the two, as the wine she'd been swigging earlier began to take effect. Luckily, in the midst of this spectacle, no one seemed to have noticed. Everyone's faces were turned to the altar, waiting for Scott's reply.

"Do you think I could trust you?" he finally said in a quiet voice that nevertheless carried to everyone's ears. "Especially after everything that's happened? I was loyal to you, Jean. I was true to you despite temptation. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"It does - of course it does!" Jean cried, holding onto him all the tighter. "And it's because of that, that I can't leave you, Scott. You gave me a reason to trust you despite all the doubt I had in you. That's why I could never lie to you. That's why you have to trust me, Scott. _Please_!"

The two shared a look; then slowly a slow smile filled Scott's face, and Jean knew that he believed her. But there was something else in his eyes, a sadness that filled her with dread…

"I believe you, Jean," he breathed at last, grasping her hands tightly in his own, his expression somber. "I believe you. But I want you to do as this Logan says. I want you to search your heart. What do you _really_ want, Jean? Do you really think that I could make you happy?"

Jean stared up into his eyes, surprised and troubled by his words. These were the very questions she'd been avoiding for Scott's own sake, and now he was the one asking them of her. She passed a look down across the church at Logan, who was still standing in the doorway, waiting for her to make her decision. Even he looked taken aback at Scott's words. Perplexed, her gaze wandered over to each of her friends, to Rogue, to her family, to all those gathered, only to find that they could give her no answers. All any of them wanted was for her to be happy. And what would it take to make her happy?

How could she even begin to answer such a question?

"Jean?" Logan asked quietly, hopefully from the back of the church, bringing her back to reality.

"Jean?" Scott echoed softly.

She took in a deep breath. She'd searched her heart. For the first time in a long time, she was going to be true to herself. Slowly, she turned towards Logan, her eyes sad.

"I'm sorry, Logan," she began gently, "but I can't make any commitment to you. Not the kind that you want anyhow. When I turned you away, it was a decision I planned to stick to, because I can't be unfaithful to Scott - it just isn't in my nature. But you're right - I cared for you. I - I still do. More than anything. I never even imagined I'd meet someone who'd make me feel so inspired, so passionate and alive, so…so special. And when that man came along, it was too late. Too late… to _love_ him. Too late to even begin to try."

She paused and turned away from Logan's deflated, crestfallen look, to gaze up at Scott, who was standing there quietly, his eyes never leaving her face.

"But I'm sorry too, Scott," she began again in a regretful murmur. "Because I can't marry you." There was another collective gasp from the congregation, but Jean ignored them and continued, bravely holding the questioning gaze of her fiancé. "Don't get me wrong, Scott - I love you, I really do. But over the years, that love has changed into something different. You're…you're like a soulmate to me, my best friend… But you're not the man that I can marry. I just don't think I could ever really, _truly_ be happy as your wife. And…" her voice grew quieter, "I don't think that I could ever make _you_ happy, Scott. Not really. You're a wonderful man, and I don't deserve you. I was willing to think the worse of you when we hit hard times and it made me realize that I'm not the woman you thought I was. I'm sorry Scott. For everything." She hung her head. "I won't blame you for despising me for this. It's what I deserve."

Their eyes locked again, and though there was sadness in Scott's, there was a steadfast and resolute gleam in his gaze. Gently he took her right hand and kissed it.

"I won't ever despise you, Jean," he said softly. "Not ever."

His lips lingered on her hand a moment more before he dropped it. His head held high, his face calm, he turned and began to walk down the altar and back down the aisle. Jean gazed after him, tears clinging to her eyelashes before sliding down her cheeks as she watched Scott - the man she'd grown up believing she would marry - walk away. All around the congregation, women were dabbing handkerchiefs to their eyes. Even the vicar looked moved despite the fact that his service had been ruined. Betsy looked dazed and upset, shocked and distressed. For Rogue, the entire thing had hit too close to home and she gazed at the floor, biting her lip hard, trying not to start bawling like everyone else was. Jean had made her decision, and whether for better or for worse, she believed that it was the right one.

For Emma, however, the drama had been just too much. As soon as Scott was out the door she fainted dead away, only to be rescued by a cluster of gallant suitors who were already eager to lend their services to her at any opportunity given.

-xXx-

Within fifteen minutes, the entire congregation had dispersed. Everyone had had something different to take home that day - some were disappointed and dejected, others disgruntled about missing out on a great shindig, and there were still others who viewed the entire episode as some real food-for-thought. Since Scott had declared no hard feelings, the Summers family had had to grin and bear it, although the Grey family didn't think they'd be seeing them again any time soon - which was probably a very good thing indeed.

In the aftermath, Mrs. Grey was still very much shell-shocked and was taken home to lie down for what would probably be the rest of the week. Emma, meanwhile, was still apparently recovering in the church hall, her male admirers refusing to disperse until she'd told them to do so. Betsy, who'd been trying to get rid of the annoying group of fussing men, didn't think Emma was going to order them out at all since she was enjoying the attention so much. Rogue was standing a little away from the group, looking out the window every now and then with a distracted expression. Much as she was distressed at the whole thing, her mind was firmly elsewhere.

Jean however, had escaped to the graveyard for some fresh air and time out. It had got a little cooler, and she pulled her stole closer about her as she trudged aimlessly through the long grass and watched the birds circling above. This wasn't remotely where she'd thought she would've ended up on her wedding day, but the good thing about graveyards was that there wasn't anyone around to distract her, so she sat on an old tombstone and turned the day's events over in her head. Obviously it was too late to change her mind. She'd upset so many people, hurt those who loved her most - and yet at the same time, she felt oddly calm and placid inside, as if a burden had been lifted from her. Much as she hated to admit it, much as it hurt - she'd done the right thing. She couldn't have borne a life with Scott feeling miserable, especially knowing he'd be miserable too. Maybe, in time, they could be friends again. If that was so, it would be a long way off. They'd both need time to heal, and he would need longer than her before he was ready. She would always love him, but the love would never be the same again. Something had awakened in her. She wasn't sure what it was yet, or even if she liked it, but just the thought of it - and the new freedom she now had - filled her heart with determination and excitement.

For the first time in her life, a whole new path lay in front of her - all she had to do was discover it.

"Hey."

At the unexpected greeting Jean looked up, only to see Logan standing hesitantly beside her.

"Hey," she replied lightly.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, indicating to the space on the tombstone beside her.

"I don't mind," she answered. "Just as long as the owner doesn't."

He cocked a quirky smile at her sense of humor and sat down, keeping his distance. Jean sensed that he didn't want to get too close, despite the feelings she knew he still had for her. She stared at his profile, seeing the tongue-tied expression of the man she'd come to find so intriguing, so different to any other she'd ever met, and suddenly she knew - if they were ever going to make it, it'd take some time for them to work things out as well.

"Jus' wanted t' apologize," he broke out gruffly, not looking at her, "for spoilin' things for yer. If I hadn'ta turned up, you woulda married him and prob'ly woulda been happy. I jus'… I jus' didn't want t' lose you, Red, and I wasn't thinkin' straight. It made me blind an' selfish." He lowered his voice and said: "I only hope y' can forgive me."

He was looking down at his nails, embarrassed and truly repentant. Jean sighed and looked up into the clear blue sky.

"You know, Logan… If you really want to say sorry, it'd have to be for even meeting me in the first place. Because from the moment I met you, I've been questioning not only me and Scott, but myself - who I am and what makes me tick." She paused and looked at him. "I don't know whether I really would've been happy with Scott or not in the long run. What really matters is, if I'd married him today I wouldn't have been true to myself. Whether it was right or wrong of me to let him down… I don't think marrying him would've been truly what I wanted. And that's something I just can't change, Logan. It isn't."

He nodded quietly, and for a moment they were silent, listening to the birdsong, not knowing what to say. Then Logan finally spoke.

"I hate t' ask this, Red, I really do but… When yer said you still cared for me…" He stopped, grimaced, then began again. "What I mean t' say is… Do you still think it's too late to even begin t' learn to love me?"

Jean took in a breath, knowing it'd been hard for him to ask it. She looked down at her feet as she swung them back and forth over the grass. Then she shrugged.

"Honestly, Logan…" She looked at him. "I really don't know. I think it's a little too soon for me to be going and making decisions like that, don't you think?"

He bit his lip and nodded again, understanding.

"Yeah. Too soon for all of us, I guess. But…" He returned her look, holding her gaze with clear eyes, "I just had t' ask. A man… he's gotta have hope, y'know."

She half grinned. "I know. Keep hoping, Logan. You may be surprised."

He smiled, then jumped down from his seat, paused and turned to her.

"Well… Maybe you'd be needin' a lift home?"

She thought about it a moment.

"Yeah, I'd like that. The limo's already gone, and I haven't got any cash for a cab."

He smirked.

"Well…when yer ready, my bike's out front. I'll be waitin' for yer."

"Okay." She nodded. "Thanks, Logan."

He gave her smile that said _don't mention it_, then turned and left.

-oOo-

True to his word, Logan was still waiting outside the church half an hour later. As Jean approached him he stood up a little straighter and threw away his cigar.

"Ever ridden a bike before?" he asked her.

"Nope," she admitted.

"Hmph. Ain't got no helmet. The ride may be a little rough. You sure you don't want a cab? I'll pay fer it."

"You already paid for my last cab home," Jean commented wryly. "What, you want me to owe you two favors? Isn't that being just a little too greedy?"

The side of the mouth twitched humorously. "Just lookin' out fer you, is all. You've been through a rough time." He stopped and threw a look over her shoulder. "And it looks like you ain't the only one."

Jean turned and saw Rogue a little way off, standing forlornly outside the church, alone. There was a harassed look on the beautiful Southerner's face as she glanced down at her watch and back down the road, searching with a familiar desperation in her eyes. Jean turned back to Logan, laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Could you wait just a minute, Logan? There's something I have to do."

"Sure thing," he grinned. "Just don't keep me waitin' too long here, darlin'."

"I won't," she assured him.

Slowly, Jean began to trudge up the pathway towards Rogue.

"Waiting?" she asked expectantly as she neared her old friend.

Rogue looked up, her cheeks flushed. "Yeah. For Remy. He said he'd be here at two-thirty." She lowered her eyelids, her throat tense. "It's already past three. Ah guess he ain't comin' after all."

Jean gently took her friend's hand, squeezed it encouragingly. Despite her happiness she couldn't bear to see her friend looking sad. "He'll come, Rogue," she reassured her. "Don't leave just yet. Wait a few minutes longer."

Rogue lifted her eyes, and Jean saw there were tears in them. "Ah'm tired of waitin', Jean. It's what Ah've been doin' these past few years and it's got me nowhere."

"Do you love him?"

Rogue swallowed, nodded. "Yeah. Ah think Ah do."

"Then he's worth it."

For a moment, neither said anything more. Then Jean stirred, pressing her wedding bouquet into her friend's hand.

"I wanted you to have this, Anna," she said softly. "I don't know whether it'll do any good anymore, now that the wedding's off… But I think you're the one who deserves this, more than any of us." She raised a hand and touched Rogue's cheek affectionately. "Hang on in there, hun. He'll come."

Rogue looked down at the bouquet for a moment, her mouth trembling. Then she threw her arms round Jean in a fervent and grateful bear hug.

"Thanks, Jeannie," she whispered. "You've been such a great friend…You and both the gals… Ah don't know what Ah would've done without you guys…"

"We'll always be there for you, Rogue. _Always_," Jean replied, only to be interrupted by Logan hooting her from his bike. The two broke apart and passed one another teary-eyed smiles.

"You be happy now, Rogue," Jean said, her voice wavering.

"You too," Rogue replied, her voice trembling too. "You too, Jean."

Slowly Jean made her way back to Logan, who was sitting rather impatiently on his bike.

"Done?" he asked.

"Done," she nodded.

"Think you can get on this bike in that dress?" he asked, an eyebrow cocked.

"Logan, today is the start of a whole new life for me," she replied with a broad smile. "I think I'm up to trying just about anything."

-xXx-

The last of the guests have finally gone, and I sit outside the church and look up at the beautiful old building and smile wistfully to myself. Things always have a funny way of turning out. I always thought Jean and Scott would've been the happiest out of all of us. But then again, there was a time I thought I was gonna be the first one to get married out of us four, the first to live in my little home with a white picket fence, some kids, and a horse.

I look down at the red, pink and white bouquet in my hands.

_Yah never know, Roguey. It still might just happen…If only the right guy was here…_

As if on cue, I hear the sound of a car approaching and I turn to see a familiar red sportscar park up on the gravel driveway. My heart flip-flops as _he_ opens the door and steps out. He's dressed in his usual smart-casual look – even made an effort and put a pink carnation in his buttonhole. But he looks like he's been tearing out all that gorgeous auburn hair of his with worry. I suppress the urge to go over and smooth it back for him, maybe run my hands through it and comfort him. Somehow I can tell that this isn't how we're going to play it.

He finally sees me standing there and walks over slowly. I know how he's feeling. Nervous, anxious, thinking I'm going to reject him again. But I've always known he's stubborn as a mule. The jerk just doesn't give up – and for the first time I'm thankful for it.

He stops a few feet from me and for a moment we stare at each other and there's nothing we can say. I want to run up to him and kiss him. I want to thank him for still not giving up on me even after all the cruel things I said to him. But somehow, I just wasn't born to be the leading lady in Hollywood romances, so I just stand there.

"Yah too late, Cajun," I say instead. "Ceremony's ended. Everyone's gone."

He shrugs, grins that same old grin. "Only came for one person, chere." He sees my teary eyes, my pale face, and he runs a hand through his hair, his expression suddenly sheepish and distressed. "I'm sorry I'm late, chere. De traffic's been pilin' up de past few blocks or so… I didn't mean t' make you wait. Truth is, I was thinkin' – I was fearin' – dat maybe, when I got here, you'd be long gone anyway…" He trails off. I say nothing. How can I explain that I would've waited for the moon to come round, even if it was only just for him? Nevertheless he takes my silence as a reproach. He hesitates, says: "Y' look beautiful, Rogue."

This time I smile to hear him say it. "Y' don't look half bad y'self. Pity you came so late all the ladies had to miss yah handsome self."

"I t'ink dis time I can live wit' de disappointment," he jokes somewhat apprehensively. "Just as long as you're here to appreciate me in de meantime."

I allow myself to chuckle. It feels good. Here we are, wanting desperately to make things up, and we end up doing the same old bantering routine, just like always.

"Ah, Remy," I sigh. "Look at meh. Ah always thought everythin' in mah life would've been sorted out by now." I look back up at the church and murmur: "Time was, Ah thought _Ah_ was the one goin' t' be walkin' down the aisle."

"I know," he reassures me softly. "Me too."

He's still being so kind, and I know I don't deserve it. I look down and twirl the bouquet round nervously in my hand.

"Ah'm sorry about Belle, Remy," I finally manage to get out. "An' Ah'm sorry 'bout all those things Ah said t' yah down in Caldecott. Ah was cruel and Ah didn't mean 'em. Ah just thought Ah owed Cody somethin', and that somethin' didn't involve a future with you."

"I know." He shrugs, trying to make light of the matter, but I know he's feeling deeply inside. "I ain't Cody. I felt de same way when Belle left me. De truth is, Rogue, ain't no one who's ever gonna be the same as either of dem. Maybe _no one_ can measure up t' Cody. But…" he pauses, and I know it's difficult for him to say it. "…I'd like t' try."

I look back down at the bouquet, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat.

"Nah. Ah never expected yah t' live up to Cody. Yah _are_ a low-life Cajun swamp-rat after all. Yah treated me like dirt and infuriated me and made me want t' slap the livin' daylights outta yah." I look up and manage to smile a watery smile. "But yah were also kind ta me, an' took care of me and held me close like no one since Cody ever did." I pause and take in a huge breath. "Ah guess that's why Ah found mahself fallin' in love with yah."

It's only when I say the words I never thought I'd find myself saying again that he gathers the courage to cover the distance between us. I can't wait any longer. I drop the bouquet and throw my arms round him, and he wraps his arms round me and we hold each other tight and it's just the way it should be.

"I couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout you…" he whispers.

"Ah couldn't stop thinkin' about you since day one," I reply chokily.

"Been missin' your insults ever since we got back from Mississippi…" he tries to go one better.

"Been missin' those dirty innuendoes of yours…"

"Been missin' dat gorgeous bod lyin' next t' mine de past few weeks… not t' mention dose luscious lips o' yours…"

"Remy…" I say, pulling away from him and taking his face gently between my hands, "Shut up an' kiss me."

He smiles, that cocky smirk that brings back the old Remy. He's only too happy to oblige, and he bestows me with a searing kiss that sends my toes curling with desire. For once there's nothing between us, and I can see as clear as day – _this is right_. So maybe he'll never be Cody. I don't want him to be. I'll never be Belle to him, and it's okay. At least we're both brave enough to try again.

We finally break apart and he gazes into my eyes with that sexy, suggestive look I would've shunned not so long before. His hand caresses my cheek and he says: "Guess we gotta lot to catch up on, chere."

"Oh no, not tonight, Cajun," I joke. "This time we're gonna do things the _right_ way round. We're gonna _talk_ for a change. And it ain't gonna involve any sassin', any fightin', or any dirty jokes."

"Aw," he pouts.

"An' then, if you're a good boy," I add huskily, grabbing his lapels and pulling him in close again, "Ah just might give yah somethin' else t' remember me by."

He grins. "Does it happen t' involve any bondage lessons your friend Emma might've been teachin' you?" he asks, his hands slipping over my butt and pulling me in close, letting me feel the full effect I'm having on him.

"You wish," I murmur in reply, before finding his mouth with mine and kissing him passionately once more.

-oOo-

_Only one more chapter to go folks! _


	24. All's Well That Ends Well

**Disclaimer: **All characters in this story belong to Marvel Entertainment Inc. and we aren't earning a penny from writing this mindless drivel you may be pleased to know...

**A/N: **So this is it folks. The end. Or is it? Whatever the case, we want to thank you for sticking with this uber long story over the past few months (it's much longer than we ever intended it to be!), and for sharing your thoughts and reviews with us! We never thought we'd finish this, but it turns out you're the ones who kept us going! Y'all are great and you totally rock our socks off! So thanks again for keeping this story alive and we hope you enjoy this last little epilogue! Muah!

- _angyxoxo and Ludi xx_

-xOx-**

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**Mix 'n' Match**

**(24) All's Well That Ends Well**

_Six months later…_

The alarm goes off shrilly, waking me up from a delicious dream involving myself and a certain Cajun swamp rat. I groan and reach out a hand, punching the 'snooze' button with my fist and almost destroying the clock in the process. It's too early in the morning to be getting up. I figure I could still do with at least another couple of hours of sleep. I hadn't had nearly enough rest the night before.

The reason for that is lying next to me, still out for the count. Sometimes I swear that Cajun could sleep through a tornado, let alone my temperamental alarm clock.

I decide I can afford to spend the extra few minutes in bed, so I lie down again and watch him sleep. When he isn't awake and consciously putting on his cocky, devil-may-care act, he almost looks adorable.

I search under the covers with my foot and find his leg. I've been practicing this move for a while now. It always seems to sort out the times when he's really asleep from the times he's only faking. I slowly run my big toe up his calf to his knee and back down again. Then I tease him by rubbing my thigh against his until I know I'm driving him positively crazy. I lean in and watch for any signs of life. First his mouth twitches. Then his brow creases. And finally he opens an eye and stares straight at me.

"Okay, okay," he grumbles out loud. "You win. I'm 'wake."

I smile slyly at him. "Ah'm beginnin' t' think you do this on purpose just so's you can get me up close an' personal in the mornin's."

"Quoi?" He puts on a theatrically injured look. "More like you need a new alarm clock, petit, it just doesn't do de job it's s'pposed to."

"Whereas Ah do?" I drawl at him. He slides up the pillow, puts his arms behind his head and looks at me appreciatively.

"Y' sure do, chere," he says seductively. I frown at him, refusing to let his charms work on me again.

"Much as Ah enjoy being yah personal alarm clock," I begin, pulling the covers aside to get out of bed, "Ah'm afraid Ah just don't have the time this mornin'." I sit on the edge of the bed and bend down to pick my clothes up off the floor.

"Yes, y' do," he says, reaching out to draw an intricate pattern on my back and sending delicious shivers up my spine. "Look – it's seven in de mornin' and it's a Saturday. We got _hours_…"

"I'd be at it the whole day if you had your way," I mumble acidly, slipping a T-shirt over my head.

"Now ain't dat a fact," he drawls sexily. His hand is still on my back beneath the shirt, stroking me lightly. "Aw, c'mon, Rogue, chere, just one kiss…"

"Remy," I sigh in exasperation, "there was a reason Ah set the alarm for seven. It's Betsy's big day today, in case you forgot."

"I don't know 'bout any 'big day'," he mutters belligerently, his hand snaking round my waist and tickling my belly. For some reason, I let him do so.

"Remy!" I exclaim, irritated. "We can't miss such an important occasion! Betsy will _kill_ us!"

"I'm already in heaven, chere, don't matter much t' me." Before I know it, his arm is around me and he's pulling me down on top of him. I shriek, half with indignation and half with pleasant surprise as he clasps me against his naked body and our impassioned gazes finally meet. "Now how 'bout dat kiss, chere?" he rumbles tantalizingly.

"Remy LeBeau, just _what_ am Ah goin' t' do with you…?" I say helplessly.

"I don't know," he replies, his lips inching closer to mine. "Surprise me. You usually do."

Normally when it gets to this stage there's no point in holding out anymore. So I give in and we kiss hungrily, and while I'm taken off guard by that succulent mouth of his he rolls us over so that I'm trapped underneath him once more.

I pull my lips away from his and try to make one final, half-hearted plea.

"Remy, we're goin' t' be late…"

"Den we make dis quick, neh?" he purrs, kissing me again. Between kisses he somehow manages to slide the T-shirt up over my head and the next moment he's running his tongue down my neck, between my collarbone, and slowly over the crest of my breast. On the bedside table the alarm goes off again.

But by that time, of course, I've given up all pretence of resistance.

-oOo-

Betsy was standing outside the building, dressed in a sexy, shimmery purple dress suit. It was hardly the kind of dress one would've thought she'd wear for such a momentous occasion, but then again, Betsy had never been one to follow tradition.

"Just _where_ are those two?" she huffed, tapping her foot inside it's delicate mauve sandal and looking down at her silver watch. "They _promised_ they wouldn't be late!"

Around her, the two couples consisting of Jean and Logan, and Emma and a now suitably dressed Bobby, passed knowing looks to one another. Logan slung his arm round Jean's waist and passed the purple-haired beauty a sly grin. "If I know anythin' about the World's Most Loved-Up Couple," he quipped, "they're probably still at it."

"Well, I wish they wouldn't," Betsy huffed. "Not only is it _disgusting_, it's also downright rude."

"They'll be along soon, don't worry, Betts," Jean assured her with a placid smile. Beside her, Emma checked her snowy white nail polish was in order. "I'm sure they'll get bored soon enough," she remarked. "After all, we all know what happens to relationships based on sex."

"Yeah…" Bobby sighed, wistful looks crossing both his and Logan's faces, looks that the girls immediately understood.

"They fizzle out before you know it," Emma finished, frowning down at the unfortunate Bobby with her eyes dangerously narrowed.

"Uh… They do?" Bobby asked, looking the very picture of innocence.

"Yes, they do," Emma replied firmly, but couldn't help a small smile begin to play on her face. Over the past few months she'd insisted that nothing had changed, and much as she liked to pretend this was so, everyone knew she'd secretly mellowed out a lot, thanks to her light-hearted young paramour. (Although they secretly wished he'd curb his adoration of her just a bit, because it did tend to inflate her ego to almost intolerable levels these days.)

"To be frank," Betsy cut in irritably, "I don't care what they get up to in bed, just as long as they turn up at the _proper_ time today, like I asked them to. I mean look!" She spread her arms to the multitude of people gathered around her, chatting and laughing and sipping on champagne. "_All_ the guests have arrived already! Daddy, Brian, Meggan and _even_ my mother managed to make it here all the way from _England_! So why can't they?"

"Speakin' of the devil," Logan remarked as a red sports car drew up nearby, and out popped a very flustered Rogue and her beau. Remy, it had to be admitted, looked very pleased with himself indeed.

"Ah'm so sorry, Betts!" Rogue exclaimed, running up to her model friend and throwing her arms round her. "Remy an' Ah… we, uh, overslept."

"I'll just bet," Emma quipped, earning a snigger from Bobby beside her.

"Hey," Remy leveled warningly at Bobby, "I don' know what you're laughin' at, homme. Not after all de trouble you got me into over Valentine's."

"Hey!" Bobby cried accusingly. "That was _your_ fault as much as mine!"

"Now, now boys," Rogue tossed at them from over her shoulder, "do behave! This ain't kindergarten, y'know!" She turned back to Betsy, taking a more serious tone. "Betts, Ah _really_ am sorry…"

"Oh, stop apologizing," Betsy caved in, and pulled away, smiling broadly at her Southern friend. "You're here at the very least, and that's all that matters."

"You know Ah wouldn't miss your special day for the world," Rogue beamed, giving Betsy an extra squeeze for good measure.

"Well, isn't this grand," Jean stated, looking round at the happy group of seven. "Kinda different from what I figured we'd all be a year ago, but we're all happy, and that's what counts."

"And _you_, Jeannie?" Rogue asked slyly. "Yah happy with bushel-britches there?"

"Watch it, Green Eyes," Logan grumbled with a sparkle in his eye. "I'll have you know Red and I are doin' just fine."

"We're taking things slowly," Jean admitted, "but yes, you'll be pleased to know we're doing just fine." She beamed and placed an affectionate kiss on an embarrassed Logan's cheek.

"Siiiiick!" Bobby exclaimed, but before he could take it back Emma had pounced on him.

"You'd better be careful what you say, Robert Drake," she reprimanded him severely. "Otherwise you'll be earning yourself one too."

"Not t' mention an extra round of punishment in bed t'night, I'm willin' t' bet," Remy added laughingly.

"You don't know the half of it," Bobby wailed dramatically. "She only calls me Robert Drake when she's really mad. That usually calls for _hours_ of finely executed torture!"

Emma gasped in indignation. "You, _Mister_ Robert Drake, are asking for a downright _whipping_!" she exclaimed.

"Alright, Ms. Frost," Bobby grinned cheekily, knowing he'd win this round whatever he said. Remy and Logan looked at one another as if to say, _wish I was in his shoes tonight_, a fact which led to Logan receiving a heated glare from Jean, and Remy receiving a playful slap on the bicep from Rogue.

"You guys are just about all a girl can stand," Betsy stated, rolling her eyes. "You're all so…_couply_."

"Speaking of," Jean began, linking her arm with Logan's protectively, "where's Warren?"

"He's been commandeered by my mother," Betsy replied woefully. "I haven't seen him for the past _half hour_!"

Everyone looked at one another wondering who was going to pluck up the courage to save Warren first.

"C'mon, guys!" Rogue finally broke out. "_Somebody_ must be willin' t' rescue the poor guy!"

"I wouldn't worry, Anna," a male voice said from behind, "I already have."

They turned to see Betsy's brother Brian escorting a very relieved Warren back to the group, an attractive, blonde-haired, elfin-faced and _very_ pregnant girl clutching his arm.

"Betsy," Warren began, "Your mother… is something else."

"Now I bet you know where Betts gets her stubbornness from, eh?" Brian joked.

"Hey!" Betsy elbowed him in the ribs. "Speak for yourself, _darling_ brother. And by the way, you haven't introduced Meggan yet, you dolt!"

"Forgive me," he said tragically but with a smile still lighting his face. "Everyone, this is my _beautiful _wife, Meggan. Nearly seven months pregnant, I might add," he stated proudly.

"Ah think this is a cause for a double celebration," Rogue announced loudly. "Betts, y'all are gonna be an auntie!"

After all the introductions and pleasantries had gone round, the ceremony was ready to get underway.

"I think," Warren whispered to Emma as Betsy walked up to the entrance of the building, scissors in hand, "that we should call it a truce, just for today. Don't you?"

"You wish, Worthington," Emma seethed between her teeth. "I still haven't forgotten how you set that despicable bimbo Jennifer Walters on me back last winter."

"Okay, okay. I apologize for that. But you _were _asking for it. Look Emma, can't we just agree to be civil to one another, at least for Betsy's sake?"

"Only if we can have _equal_ shares in her new company," she whispered back, not missing a beat. "Deal?"

"As long as you stop inviting us round to dinner and getting your maid to cook that god-awful gazpacho you know I hate. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Fine. It's a deal."

-xXx-

Everyone began to crowd round as Betsy stepped up to unveil her new boutique. Brandishing her shears in one hand and a mic in the other, she began to make an Oscar-length speech about how honored she was to be opening this new fashion boutique in the great city of New York, and how great it was to see so many relatives, friends, colleagues and acquaintances gathered together on her special day. It was all so touching even her hard-hearted battleaxe of a mother began to weep.

"Finally," she continued, five minutes later, "I'd like to thank an old friend of mine for teaching me that fashion doesn't have to be wasteful, and that clothes and the environment don't have to be incompatible. His name's Neal Sharra, and I have no idea where he is today… But it's thanks to him that I realized where my true calling lay and how much I really cared for this planet."

She paused and her eyes fell on Warren at the front of the crowd.

"And last but not least," she carried on, smiling warmly, "I'd also like to say thanks to a great guy, a special guy who's in this crowd today and knows exactly who he is. Without his help, his support and his love, I wouldn't have been able to rediscover the faith I have in myself and re-launch my new fashion career. Thanks, Warren luv, you're a one in a million."

Everyone began to whoop and cheer and Warren flushed and beamed, and looked embarrassed when Emma nudged him slyly in the side.

"And now!" Betsy finally announced, turning to the posh entrance to her new boutique. "I now declare New York's first eco-friendly fashion store, the _Braddock_ _Boutique_, officially open!"

More applause as Betsy finally cut the purple ribbon and guests and customers alike began to flood in.

-oOo-

Just over two hours later, it appeared that most of the shop had been bought out and Betsy was standing in the doorway saying goodbye to the last of the guests looking very happy indeed. The rest of the group had gathered to one side, most of the girls carrying bulky shopping bags and parcels with them. Emma's of course, were all in the arms of her devoted boyfriend.

"Looks like you ladies have bought enough to start up your own shops," Warren remarked, very happy that he wasn't in the position of having to carry around his girlfriend's ill-gotten gains.

"But Warren, everything here just happens to be top-knotch quality goods, handmade by Betsy's team of tailors and not in some cheap Chinese sweatshop!" Emma exclaimed. "We're just helping a good cause, aren't we girls?"

"We most certainly are," Jean nodded seriously. "I mean, look at this." She held up a revealing gold silk dress up to her that made the guy's eyes pop out. "Beautiful, fashionable, reasonably priced and made with fair trade in mind. There's absolutely nothing to feel guilty about! How can I not buy it?"

"Touché," Remy murmured, and Rogue passed him a narrow-eyed glance, which he returned with a dazzling smile.

"Well guys," Betsy stated, coming up to the group now that all the guests had gone, "I think we can all safely call this a success."

"I'm happy for you, darling," Warren smiled, putting his arms round her waist and nuzzling against her hair. "I knew you could do it."

"I couldn't have done it without you, luv," she murmured, slipping her hands into his hair and pulling him down for a passionate kiss.

"Well, now that that's all over," Logan said, once he'd cleared his throat to get the attention of the two lovebirds, "what does everyone say to a round of free drinks back at the _Hideaway_?"

"Geez," Bobby exclaimed from behind the pile of parcels in his arms, "I thought you'd never ask!"

-xXx-

We end up spending pretty much the rest of the day at the _Hideaway_, drinking, chatting and laughing. Bobby ends up trying to perform some sort of one-man act and somehow ends up sprawled all over the floor. In the ensuing chaos I take the opportunity to slip outside unseen.

The night is calm and moonlit, the sky a dark canopy sprinkled over with a light gathering of stars. There was a time I used to look up at the night sky and think that maybe Cody was one of those stars, the brightest and the best of them. I search the sky and finally find it. It's so big it feels as if I could reach out and touch it. I know that if Cody were still alive and here with me now, I'd be happy. But I also know that with the way things are, right here, right now… I'm still happy, and even if this isn't where I expected to be, I wouldn't change things for the world. I feel as if I've been given a second chance at both love and life.

"Thanks, Cody," I whisper to that big, bright star. I blow him a kiss. "Goodbye."

A hand touches my back from behind, an arm wraps around my shoulder. It's Remy.

"You okay?" he asks softly, pulling me into his embrace.

"Ah'm fine," I reply, returning the hug. "Just sayin' goodbye, is all."

"Happy now?" he murmurs, brushing his lips gently against my own.

"Since Ah've been with _you_, Remy LeBeau, Ah've been happy every minute of every day," I answer, opening my mouth and kissing him slowly. We remain like that for a long time, rocking softly to the tune of the music flowing from inside the club. Then he breaks away and gives me a saucy grin, one that I know usually spells trouble.

"I got a present for you," he says, reaching inside his breast pocket and bringing out a very small bag with Betsy's logo on it. He hands it to me and I feel something soft and gaudy inside.

"So _that's_ what you were doin'," I remark wryly. "Ah was wonderin' where you disappeared to this afternoon."

"Ain'tcha gonna open it, mon amour?" he asks expectantly.

I twist my lips and peek inside the bag, expecting a suitably kinky surprise. I'm not disappointed.

"My oh my," I exclaim sarcastically and whistle softly. "Remy LeBeau, Ah do declare!" I take out a practically non-existent lacy red teddy and matching pair of French knickers.

"It's our sixth month anniversary," he grins. "Thought we'd celebrate in true Parisian style."

"Don't we 'celebrate' practically every night of the week, sugah?" I ask him seductively, dropping the underwear back into the bag and bringing my arms up around his neck.

"Sure we do," he replies, "but I got a little somet'ing dat was extra special. Look in de bag again, sweet."

Seeing he really is in earnest, and now beside myself with curiosity, I look inside the bag again, only to find a piece of pink tissue paper hidden within the downy fabric of the underwear. I unfold it, and out falls into the palm of my hand…a ring. A simple but elegant diamond ring. I stare at it in disbelief.

"Remy…" I begin to say, but can't get the words out.

"Rogue," he preempts me, "I know dis may not be a good moment… an' dat you still need time t' get over Cody… But if I wait it ain't never gon' be de right time, an' well… before you get carried away and t'ink it's somet'ing dat it ain't, it _has_ been six months an' I thought I'd get you somet'ing special…"

He stops when he sees I'm still staring at it, dumbfounded.

"Rogue," he begins again, this time slower, "I know de two of us have only really just started t' get t' know each other. And I know t'ings might never work out b'tween us. We need time t' learn t' trust again and I know it's best t' take t'ings slowly. But I really want t' show you dat I care, and dat I aim t' make you de happiest femme alive."

I look up at him, tears pricking my eyelids, a smile wavering on my lips. _He still thinks Ah'm gonna reject him, that he's only second-best t' me. He's afraid that if he comes out an' says it Ah'll just laugh and say 'no'._

"Remy," I ask him outright, "what on _earth_ are yah tryin' t' say?"

He sighs, runs his hand through his hair in that adorable way of his and says: "I'm tryin' to say… dat dis can mean whatever _you_ want it to mean." He sees the confused frown begin to touch my face and then adds quickly: "And dat I love you."

"Remy…" I look him seriously, almost severely, in the eyes and he stares right back at me apprehensively. _No turnin' back now, Rogue. Yah know this is right. There's only you and him now, one big future we can have together if we want it._ I steel myself and take a deep breath. "_Yes_," I say.

Before he can even think of putting the ring on my finger, he lifts me up in a bear hug of utter relief, then puts me down and says almost suspiciously: "Really?"

And I say: "_Really_."

We don't say another word. He slips the ring on my finger, quickly, quietly, and kisses my hand as if for extra good luck. Then we turn back towards the _Hideaway_ as if nothing's happened at all.

"Y' know what dose guys in dere t'ink?" he asks me, throwing his arm casually round my shoulder.

"What?"

"Dey t'ink we ain't gon' last a minute."

I look up and pass him an impish smile as I playfully pinch his butt.

"Then we'll just haveta prove them wrong, won't we, sugah?"

**-END-**

-oOo-


End file.
